De Rohan pursed his lips and wiped his hands fastidiously on the King’s cloth napkin. “On Tuesday, de Vrailly will kill the Queen’s champion. We’ll burn her as a witch, and the rest will follow easily enough.”

L’Isle d’Adam shook his head. “He’ll never stomach it.” He looked at de Rohan. “Grande Dieu, de Rohan, I do not think I can stomach it.”

“You do not think she is guilty?” de Rohan asked.

L’Isle d’Adam shook his head. “I do not think there’s a man present who could stomach burning the Queen.”

“She’s a heretic—a temptress—a seducer and a murderer,” the archbishop spat.

“As I said, I do not think there is a man present who could stomach it,” l’Isle d’Adam said. “May I suggest—very strongly, Monsieur de Rohan—that the Queen suffer an accident after her trial by combat?”

“Perhaps trying to escape?” Du Corse said. “For the love of God, de Rohan—we don’t have ice water in our veins like you. And the commons…”

De Rohan snapped his fingers. “That, for them,” he said.

Du Corse nodded very slightly. “What a fine time you will have ruling this fair country when I take my lances back to the King.”

De Rohan turned to the two big servants. “Take him to bed,” he said.

They bowed.

“Do you have any news of our army in the north?” de Rohan asked.

Du Corse sighed. “Army is far too strong a word. Ser Hartmut has a fine siege train and about a hundred lances—and some sailors.”

“Too far away to be any use,” de Rohan said.

Du Corse looked at l’Isle d’Adam and shrugged again. “Monsieur d’Abblemont had a plan for the union of our forces,” he admitted. “And he was intending to reinforce the so-called Black Knight with two hundred more lances this spring.” He looked at de Rohan, his face wrinkling with suppressed displeasure. “But I suspect the troops were never sent. The King and council in Lutrece are adamant about the summer campaign. The reports from Arelat are very serious.”

“Shall we go back and inform the herald of the King’s decision?” de Rohan asked. He seemed uninterested in the events in Arelat.

“What do you perceive was the King’s decision?” Du Corse asked.

“Why, war, of course!” de Rohan said. “In the morning, at dawn, the King asks that you attack their camp.”

Du Corse nodded again, very slightly. “We are very chivalrous, are we not?” he asked.

By the time the first market carts rolled into the squares of Cheapside on Easter Monday, the boys who spread news knew there had been a battle.

Most of the Royal Guard, and all the lances that the Conte Du Corse had brought from Galle, rode through the town before first light. They passed without challenge through Southgate.