Dining with Strangers

Major General von Strohm was a heavyset man entering his middle age, the white uniform of the Baden Life Guards tight around his somewhat expansive waist, his jowls beginning to descend from his cheeks to hang around his jaw like a bulldog, although the effect was somewhat lessened by his magnificent auburn sideburns. As he sat at the dinner table his face was red, and a patina of sweat gleamed atop his bald pate.

That might have had something do with the beer that he was quaffing down by the stein full.

"Bah!" he declared, as he slammed the large tankard down upon the wooden table. "These Gauls, they have no understanding of brewing, none at all!"

"They do make some rather good wine," Adam observed mildly.

"Wine, pah!" declared von Strohm dismissively. "A drink fit only for Gauls and women; I would rather drink the urine of my horse! Beer is a drink for men! Small wonder these fops cannot brew it properly. Girl! Bring me another!"

It was all Adam could do not to roll his eyes. They had arrived at the village of Le Poet-Jerome, and since it was late and they would have to stop soon in any case, they had decided to stop there, where they could stay at the inn for the night in a greater degree of comfort than normal.

The fact that Le Poet-Jerome was currently were the XIV Corps of the Imperial Army were making camp was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, of sorts, because it meant that in what was nominally Aquitainian territory they would not have to rely upon their diplomatic status for protection, but a curse because it meant that Prince Adam was stuck down here in the inn's common room, dining with Major General von Strohm.

Belle was not with him. It was the work of that damn morganatic marriage again; had Belle been his full and complete wife, a princess as he was a prince, then she would have been seated opposite him at the table, forcing von Strohm to sit somewhere in the middle between them – and perhaps he might have minded his manners in the presence of a lady and a princess. But Belle was not Adam's full wife, she was only a left-handed wife, and thus still in the eyes of the Empire of a status as common as her birth, and one could not expect an Imperial general, an aristocrat of the Margraviate of Baden, to dine with a common Gallic woman. So Belle had been banished up to their room to dine there, while Adam was stuck down here with the Major General.

Adam thought that perhaps Belle might have come off better from this particular arrangement, much as it chafed at him to see her treated so. She deserved to be here, she deserved to be at his side, she deserved to have the likes of von Strohm bow to her, and kiss her hand.

Whether she deserved to have to suffer through his company at the dinner table was something else altogether, and the irony of the fact that he was actively working to force Belle to endure the odious company of such men as this was not entirely lost on him, but he was sure – and equally sure that Belle agreed with him – that the rewards of her enjoying a status equal to his own were worth the occasional costs.

Apart from anything else she deserved to be called a princess. She had the heart, the grave, the virtue, she was more intelligent than many who possessed the title princess – or Arch-Duchess – she was fit to wear a crown, if any was. And if, God willing, they ever had children then a full marriage would enable them in turn to be called prince or princess and to one day inherit Adam's seat, castle, lands and incomes when he was gone.

That was worth working for, especially when it also involved working for peace.

In the meantime he found himself counting down the moments until this dinner was over and he could politely excuse himself and retire to bed – or at least retire to the bedroom to be with Belle. Alas, a chicken sat half-eaten on von Strohm's plate, and he had not yet put down his fork.

In fact, as Adam thought this, the general ate another mouthful. Once he had swallowed, he said, "Have you had the chance to inspect our camp, Prince Adam?"

"No," Adam murmured. "I haven't had the pleasure, it was a little late when we arrived."

"You must do so before you leave tomorrow," von Strohm insisted. "You will find it quite excellently laid out. Not even the ancient Romans could lay out a camp like ours."

"I see," Adam said softly. "Well, who doesn't appreciate a well-ordered camp?"

"Discipline!" General von Strohm declared. "That is the word that defines our Imperial approach to war, your highness, discipline!" He paused for a moment. "That and manliness. Do you know why we are winning this war, your highness, why we are certain to win it?"

"Numbers?" Adam asked, and hoped that his sarcasm was not too obvious.

Von Strohm shook his head. "The fact that our enemies are weak and fight like women is certainly one reason why we are certain to triumph, but even were that not the case, even were they as much men as we are, nevertheless we will be victorious thanks to our superior discipline. It is discipline that has carried us through their lands and driven the Aquitanian armies back in disarray, it is discipline that will soon see our guns fire upon their capital city. It is discipline, the iron discipline with which our troops advance, manoeuvre, carry out their orders with absolute obedience! The untamed courage of the Gauls, such as they possess, is as nothing compared to the blind, unyielding obedience of our forces. That is why this is only a temporary setback-"

"Setback?" Adam asked. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing!" General von Strohm declared loudly. He cleared his throat. "Nothing at all, your highness, a… I misspoke. Where is that beer, girl?"

On the upper floor of Le Poet-Jerome's only inn, Belle stood at the window of the room which she shared with Adam – or would share with him, once he was finished dining with General von Strohm – and looked out across the village.

It was night time by now; darkness had fallen and the light of the moon offered only a little in substitution to the sun's rays, but by the moonlight and by the light of the lanterns lit about the town, by the light of the campfires that burned in the darkness as though they sought to hold up a mirror to the stars above, Belle could get some idea of the layout of the village around them.

Plus, she had seen it as they arrived, as their carriage had rattled through the camp – Avenant, although he made her skin crawl by his presence, had gotten them through the Baden lines, explaining their presence to the sentries and causing an officer to be summoned to escort them to the Major General's headquarters – and into the village itself she had been able to see out of the window. And so she could see this place in her mind's eye, even if her actual eyes could not see so much any more, and what she had seen had given her a good idea of what sort of a place this was.

Le Poet-Jerome was a little village, not all that different from the one where she had grown up, and called home before chance had placed her in Adam's path – or he in hers, perhaps, considering that she was the one who had been moving and he brooding in his castle waiting for her. The kind of quiet village where every day was like the one before, and the one after that would likely be much the same. A place of wattle and daub houses, mostly two storeys high, the occasional one with a narrow tower rising above that at one corner or the other, the kind of place where women walked the streets in simple but colourful dresses, their hair concealed beneath headscarves or bonnets, where the men wore drabber colours of earthy brown and grey, because colour was for women, and any man who appreciated them would be found suspect by his neighbours.

The kind of place where women were trapped by men's authority, but men were trapped by the expectations of their fellow men.

The kind of place where men like Gaston flourished.

Belle closed her eyes. She didn't want to think about Gaston; he was dead, let him lie forgotten. Belle was not sure that she would ever quite be able to forget him, if nothing else the look on his face as he had plummeted from the tower would probably stay with her for many years to come, but she did not have to remember him constantly, or even often.

And yet the presence of his brother on this expedition made it harder to ignore than usual.

All the same, she was being too hard on Le Poet-Jerome to assume that it was, in all the most unpleasant respects, the same as the village that she had come from. She did this place wrong, no doubt; well, she did it wrong, perhaps, and she had no intention of staying here long enough to confirm that there was some local Gaston here.

Although the thought did make her wonder if there was perhaps some local Belle here, and whether she could do anything to help her.

But what could she do? This was not Adam's land, she was a stranger in this country; for that matter she was not even in this country entirely peacefully, for while Adam came in peace and on a peaceful mission, the Emperor that Adam served was waging war against the Kingdom of Aquitaine of which this village was a part.

The arrival of the Imperial soldiers was probably the most interesting thing to happen to the people of this village in many years, but Belle doubted that they welcome the excitement.

No, there was nothing that Belle could do for any girl in this village who was like her, and an girl who was like her, possessed of a mind of her own and the ability to think, would probably not wish to be helped by an invader however good her intentions.

And besides, their mission would hardly wait for them; tomorrow morning they would be gone, and on to Armorique.

The best thing that Belle could do for anyone in Le Poet-Jerome was help bring this war to an end as soon as possible.

The village was small, but the camp of the Fourteenth Corps around it – Belle thought it likely there were more Baden soldiers here presently than there were villagers – had swelled its size tremendously; they had made camp upon the fields around Le Poet-Jerome, their tents in neatly ordered ranks expanding outwards in all sides. As they had arrived Belle had seen infantrymen in uniforms of blue – and a very few who wore uniforms of green – drilling in squares where there were no tents to obstruct them, while others stood on sentry duty, or busied themselves with this or that duty about the camp, while others yet sat or stood idle for a little while. Horses stood restrained in rows, great cannons of black iron or gleaming sat here or there, their mouths agape.

Now, in the night, Belle could see no one drilling, but by the light of all those fires she could see still see the tents, and thought they were a little far off she could see the soldiers sat around them, waiting for the morning.

They were men of Baden, one of the many little states that made up the Holy Roman Empire, a margravate bordering upon Burgundy. And yet, for all that they bordered on Burgundy, what quarrel did Baden have with Aquitaine? What cause, what need, had driven these men of Baden to rise from their fields, to leave their homes and families behind, to take up arms and march westward into Aquitaine with guns and grim intent?

What lies had they been told to make them fight, or had those who had marched them off to war not even bothered to make them think there was a just cause or principle at stake?

As Maria Theresa had declared at dinner in the castle, every nation in the Empire had guns, and men to carry them into the battle for the glory of the Reich.

How many of them were glad to be fighting in this war for the glory of the Reich, Belle wondered? How many of them would rather be at home instead, safe and sound, surrounded by children, or else wooing their sweethearts or simply living as they wished, finding happiness how they may?

That number, she was sure, would be by far the greater. And yet here they were, all these men of Baden, ready to fight and die so that Maria Theresa could secure her hold upon a patch of land, though it meant nothing to any of these men whether Burgundy was ruled by one queen or another.

And yet this war will carry on regardless of what they think.

"Madame?" Lumiere said gently. When Belle turned her back on the window to look at him, he gestured to the plate of food he had just set upon the little table. "Your dinner."

Belle smiled at him. "Thank you, Lumiere," she looked at what he had brought her. It was not as fine to look at as the meals in the castle – the gravy was rather thick and seemed to be smothering everything else on the plate – but nevertheless she said, "It looks delicious."

Lumiere chuckled. "It is not such fine fair as at home, but it is better that anything we would be having on the road, no?"

"You're right," Belle agreed. "I should be grateful for what I have."

"Not too grateful, Madame," Lumiere replied. "I know that the master would wish to be up 'ere with you, rather than being down there with the general."

"And I'd rather have him here, too," Belle said, a slight trace of a sigh in her voice. "But we must work with what we have, and what we have is only a morganatic marriage." For now, at least.

Lumiere fell silent for a moment, even as his face fell too. He ventured, "Would you like me to stay with you, Madame? I could endeavour to entertain you? I could sing, for old times sake?"

"That would be very kind of you, Lumiere, but I'm sure that you'd prefer Babette's company, and I know that she would welcome yours," Belle said, the smile on her face broadening.

Lumiere laughed. "Ah, well, if you are sure, Madame-"

"I'm sure," Belle assured him. She crossed the room, picking up a book that lay on the bed. "I have Spinoza to keep me company until Adam returns."

Lumiere bowed his head. "Then I will leave you to your reading, Madame, and to your meal. May you take what joy of it you can," he added, his voice dropping, as he turned and walked towards the bedroom door.

"Lumiere?" Belle asked.

Lumiere paused. "Yes, Madame?"

"Do you love her?" Belle asked, putting one hand upon the back of her chair. "Babette?"

Lumiere was silent for a moment, one hand stopped in the act of reaching towards the door handle. "I… I enjoy her company. I enjoy her. I would not want to be without her. Is that love?"

"Without a curse to break to prove it for certain, I think it is," Belle said, her voice soft and gentle, the smile remaining on her face. "It doesn't come in a moment, or at least it didn't, it snuck up on us both without us really… realising it."

Lumiere chuckled. "If I may, Madame, we realised it."

"And I realise it with you," Belle pointed out. "Maybe that's how it works." She paused for a moment. "Marry her, then. If you love her then make her yours, if she will have you. Otherwise… otherwise there'll be a part of her that always doubts how much you mean it."

Lumiere frowned slightly. "Did you ever doubt it, Madame? That the master loved you?"

"No," Belle said, "because he married me."

Lumiere smiled. "I'm not sure that I am the marrying kind."

Belle snorted. "Really?"

"You sound so surprised."

"You may be a bit of a libertine, Lumiere," Belle declared. "But you are also a good man." She paused. "Think about it, please. For my sake, and for hers."

"I will," Lumiere promised. "I give you my word. Goodnight, Madame."

"Goodnight, Lumiere," Belle replied. "Have a good time."

Lumiere was smiling as the door closed, and when the door closed she heard a laugh of anticipation from the other side of it.

Belle shook her head slightly, and picked up her fork in one hand and her book of philosophy in the other.

Perhaps the one would make the other go down easier.

Before she could tuck in to either, however, Belle was interrupted by a knock at the door.

She looked up. "Lumiere?"

The door opened, and Amelie stuck her head around it. "No, your… madame, it's only me. May I come in?"

Belle hesitated. She didn't really want the other girl's presence; she had been sent to spy on her by Queen Maria Theresa, and possibly to do worse than spy if hers or Adam's actions transgressed against the queen's imagined will – her will as interpreted by Amelie, and by Gaston's brother what was worse – and so Belle felt within her rights to want as little to do with the other woman as possible.

On the other hand… on the other hand she had been sent by Queen Maria Theresa to spy on Belle and Adam, and it might not look too good if they seemed to have something to hide.

So Belle said, "Of course, come in."

"Thank you," Amelie said quietly, as she pushed open the door just enough to get inside, and then shut it behind her once she was inside. "May I sit down?"

"Please," Belle said, calmly, but without much warmth.

"Much obliged your- Madame," Amelie said, as she took the chair on the other side of the table from Belle.

Belle raised one eyebrow. "If you want to call me 'highness', I won't stop you," she said dryly.

Amelie snorted. "Her Majesty wouldn't care for that," she replied. "Protocol, tradition, these things matter to her. Everything has its place, as she likes to say."

"And everyone has there's?" guessed Belle.

"It's true, isn't it?" asked Amelie. "And, with all due respect, Madame, you married a prince; you can't complain too much about the way things are set up just because you don't get to call yourself 'princess'. You're still higher up and better off than most."

"I'm not unaware of that," Belle said, her voice acquiring a slightly brittle quality. "But I believe that there are certain standards of common decency and respect to which we should all be entitled, no matter how low we are or how high are those we interact with."

"You mistake her majesty if you think she is incapable of that," Amelie declared. "She is the most courteous and considerate queen I have ever met."

"Have you met many?" Belle asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"One or two, aye," Amelie said, her voice rising. "Her Majesty's visit to the Franche-Comte is not the first time I have ridden in her train, and sometimes I have ventured forth to do her bidding as though I were no mere huntress but one of her knights of old performing errantry."

Belle found herself a little surprised that Amelie knew words like 'errantry', and the surprise must have shown upon her face, because the other girl said, with a little sourness in her tone, "You're not the only one who can read. Her Majesty had me taught my letters, and even allowed me to spend time in her library."

"Really?" Belle asked.

"Really," Amelie repeated.

Belle paused for a moment. "Are you… are you more high born than I had expected?"

Amelie snorted. "Wow. You… wow."

"What is it?" Belle asked. "Did I say something wrong?"

Amelie leaned forwards. "You don't remember me at all, do you?"

Belle blinked. "Should I?"

"I'm Amelie!" Amelie insisted. "The woodcutter's daughter."

Belle opened her mouth. She remembered the woodcutter, Joseph by name, a gnarly man, tall, grizzled from her earliest memories. When she had been young he had been a strong man, muscled, prone to carrying around his axe with him as if he were trying to intimidate people. The strength had left him in his later years, leaving him lean and hungry looking. Had he had a daughter? Yes! Yes, he had, and a red-haired girl at that; Belle didn't remember her very well, in fact she remembered very little.

But then she hadn't really gotten on with any of the other girls in the village.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "But I barely remember you."

Amelie snorted. "I'm not surprised. I remember you well enough, always had your nose stuck in a book. It's no wonder you didn't look up long enough to see me."

"Did you and Avenant come into Maria Theresa's service together?" Belle asked. "It seems quite a coincidence otherwise. Where is he, anyway?"

"I didn't think you'd want his company," Amelie muttered.

"I don't," Belle replied. "But I'm curious as to where he is."

"I'm not sure myself," admitted Amelie. "He's like a cat, he comes and goes as he pleases, I can't control him."

"I see," Belle murmured.

"I don't think you do," Amelie replied. "Avenant is not his brother."

"I'm glad to hear it," Belle said. "But he is his brother."

"So?" Amelie demanded. "Gaston got what was coming to him, Avenant knows that as well as we do-"

"Then why does he keep watching me?" Belle demanded.

Amelie was silent for a moment. "I… I'll talk to him about that," she said. She cleared her throat. "That… that's a nice looking dress."

"Thank you," Belle murmured. She was wearing her green dress, with the slightly puffed shoulders and the long sleeves, and her hair tied back in a ponytail, secured with a simple green ribbon. There didn't seem to be much point in anything more ostentatious.

"Although I'm not sure green is your colour," Amelie went on. "Blue would suit you better."

"Did Queen Maria Theresa teach you about fashion, too?" Belle asked.

"I've picked up a little bit here and there," Amelie replied. "And no, we didn't come into Her Majesty's service together. Avenant left home before I did – Gaston made it hard for him to stick around, make of that what you will – and he enlisted in the Austrian army."

"Why?" Belle asked. "Bavaria, Austria, they're a very long way from the Franche-Comte."

"In Avenant's case I think it was to see action," Amelie said. "These Baden soldiers, assuming that they were even in the army before this war began, how many battles do you think they fought before this war started? How many times has the Emperor called the electors and the princes to arms? Baden, Wurtemburg, Westphalia, Frisia, they've all known peace until now."

"So has the Franche-Comte," Belle pointed out. "That isn't a bad thing."

"No, it isn't, unless you want to do more than take salutes and march soldiers around a parade ground," Amelie explained. "The Austrians have fought the Turks for generations upon our eastern flank, and probably will for years to come. Her Majesty says the wars against the heathen will never end until we take Constantinople back from the infidel. For the glory of God."

"And for the Empire," Belle said softly.

"Of course," Amelie agreed. "Anyway, Avenant fought in one of those wars, in the Austrian service. How he rose in rank, how he came to Her Majesty's service… that's his story, not mine. But he did come to her notice as a man who could get things done, and won her trust."

"And you?" asked Belle. "What brought you all the way to Bavaria?"

"Accident," Amelie said. "And a lot of walking."

Belle raised her eyebrows.

"I'm serious," Amelie insisted. "You think you were the only one who wanted more out of life than was offered back home, in that village? More than my father could give me, more than he even knew I needed? More than marriage to some fellow I didn't even like? I wanted more. I didn't really know what more was but I knew I wanted it. So, one day, I set off. Just started walking. Heading east. I went east instead of west because I knew it was all the Empire, but I had no idea how different it became even after going just a little way. Different languages, different ways of dressing, different ways of doing things. I picked up a little German as I went along, along with little bits of Italian, Dutch, Hungarian from people I met on the road. I did odd jobs, this and that, here and there. I'd always been a good shot, even if girls back home weren't supposed to do that kind of thing, and I learned a few other things as I kept on walking. One old man I met taught me how to dress carcasses, and another taught me some tracking tips. By the time I reached Bavaria – not that I knew that was where I was, exactly – I knew a lot more than I had when I started out.

"So there I was, walking, wandering, looking for the next place to stay, looking for the next way to earn my supper, looking for a sign that I'd reached the place where I was meant to be, the thing that I was meant to do. I was wandering… I'd wandered off the road, I thought that since I couldn't see a farm or lodge or the like I might try and hunt my own dinner, so I was wandering through the woods and I heard this crying; a child, out in the woods all by himself."

"A child? Alone?" Belle cried. "How?"

"Family picnic," Amelie said. "Not quite the whole family, because Her Majesty was in bed with whooping cough-"

"Her Majesty?" Belle repeated. "You don't mean-"

"The Queen herself, Maria Theresa," Amelie acknowledged. "As I said, she was ill, but His Majesty had taken young Prince Maximillian out anyway, except that he had gotten away from his minders and gotten lost, just as they'd lost him."

"It sounds as if he was lucky you found him," Belle said.

"We were lucky to find each other," Amelie declared. "My plan was to take him back to the road, then follow the road to the nearest town or village or whatever and find someone who could look after him; I ended up shooting at a wolf that started nosing too close to us, and the shot attracted searchers. They brought me back to the castle. I wasn't sure if they were going to reward me or cut my head off."

"Cut your head off?"

"It was only my word that I'd been trying to help, who knew what I might have done to His Majesty?" Amelie said, without any malice. "Her Majesty and her husband, the old King, questioned me themselves. Her Majesty got up from her sickbed to do it; having something to do seemed to make her stronger; or maybe it was just how worried she'd been for her son.

"The King was a good man, her husband; he was clever, I think, at least everyone said he was, and he was a decent man too, as far as I could tell, but Her Majesty… the moment I stepped into that room with her, the moment I knelt before her, the moment I looked into her eyes, I knew… I knew that here was someone I could follow, someone I could call my mistress, someone to whom I could devote myself. I knew. I knew just from being in her presence that there, beneath her, was where I was meant to be.

"I couldn't have lied to her if I'd wanted to. I didn't want to, of course, I had no reason to, but even if I'd wanted to, even if I had thought about trying to lie to her I wouldn't have been able to do it. Her Majesty has… you might as well try and lie to an angel as lie to her, she… you want to be true to her, and truthful too, to obey her."

Belle couldn't say that she understand Amelie's point; in the time that she had spent in Maria Theresa's presence she could not say that she felt physically incapable of lying, nor drawn to obey the Bavarian queen. And yet she had made Amelie her own, it seems; or perhaps Amelie simply wished to sugar over the fact that she was loyal to someone who had rewarded her.

"And so," Amelie went on, "once Her Majesty determined that I was someone who deserved to be rewarded, not punished, the only reward I asked for was the chance to stay by her side."

"And she did," Belle said.

"She did more than that," Amelie said. "I told you, she had me taught my letters, and she lets me see her son. Me, a common girl, a woodcutter's daughter, and I can spent time with the King of Bavaria himself. He's such a sweet boy, he treats me like I'm one of his aunties."

You could hardly be worse than his actual aunties, Belle thought. "She must trust you a great deal."

"I'd like to think so," Amelie replied, not without pride. "And I know for a fact that I won't let her down." Her tone hardened. "I won't let you let her down either."

Belle took pause a moment. "I've no intention of letting her down. I admit that I don't feel as loyal to her as you, but nevertheless I want to serve Her Majesty well… although I'm not wholly sure what she wants. Does Her Majesty want peace?"

"Her Majesty wants to win the war," Amelie said. "And we will win this war, if only we can keep Armorique and the like from meddling with us for a little while. We need to win this war, Her Majesty needs to win for all our sakes. Do you know what's at stake here?"

"Land and power," Belle said flatly.

Amelie shook her head vigorously. "No, that's just what is being fought over, what is at stake is… is everything." Now it was her turn to pause. "Your father tried to put mine out of work."

"You mean his machine?" Belle asked. "Papa-"

"What use is a woodcutter when some engine can chop all the wood that you require?" Amelie asked.

"Your father wore himself out chopping wood," Belle responded. "If he hadn't had to then-"

"Everything in its place and everyone in theirs," Amelie declared. "Machines, the things your father builds, the things they're making in the factories of the west, they get in the way of that, they mess it up. You realise they'll replace us."

"What?"

"Machines!" Amelie cried. "It starts off with chopping wood, and then its spinning and sewing and weaving, and woe betide if that's all you know how to do, and then the next thing you know they'll be making toys for the children, and young King Max he won't want to spend any time with a huntress like Amelie no more because there'll be bloody machines taking care of the children and reading them stories and tucking them in at night. And they'll replace us, one by one, doing all of the things that we do until in the end they're ruling themselves – and us too – no more kings or queens, princesses or archduchesses, just machine lords belching out smoke telling us what to do – assuming that they don't just decide to be rid of us."

"I'm sorry, but that's absurd!" Belle cried. "That's… utterly ridiculous! My father's engine, looms and mills, they all rely on a person to make use of them-"

"For now!"

"What you're talking about is fantasy," Belle insisted.

"I read about it in a book in Her Majesty's library," Amelie said.

"A fantastical book then, whatever it was, the technology is nowhere near there yet."

"Not today, maybe not even tomorrow, but at some point it'll get there," Amelie said. "We have to stop it now. We have to make our stand here while we can. That's why we have to win this war because we are on the side of life itself, the side of people-"

"By killing them?" Belle asked.

Amelie ignored her, saying, "And that is why we don't need any interference from Armorique or their dark satanic mills, because we-"

The door was flung open and Avenant strode in, without bothering to knock. "We need to go," he said. "Where's Prince Adam?"

"Dining with General von Strohm," Belle said evenly. "What's this about? Why have you just come barging in here-"

"I'll get him," Avenant said. "Amelie, spread the word to the servants." His eyes fell on Belle, and lingered on her a moment longer than she was comfortable with. "Start gathering up your things."

"Why?" Belle demanded. "What's going on?"

"Where have you been?" Amelie asked.

"Talking to the officers in the camp," Avenant said. "I've learned things that I doubt our host is sharing with Prince Adam."

"Such as?" asked Belle.

"These soldiers are not camped here as part of their advance into Aquitaine," Avenant explained. "They retreated here, from further south. Their flank guard was attacked by overwhelming force, so von Strohm retreated to avoid being outflanked. The plan is to catch their breath here then continue to retreat, but I don't think the Aquitainians will give them the chance, I think they're on their way now and we don't want to-"

His words were cut off by a loud booming sound that rolled through the night air beyond the inn. It was followed by another, then another, great booming noises that shook the world, and left their echoes trembling after them.

"Is that… is that thunder?" asked Belle, more in hope than expectation.

"Cannon fire," Avenant muttered. "We're too late; Aquitaine is here already."