Rohan and Philippe stood side by side at the edge of a forest, staring out across a wide stretch of uneven pastureland toward the distant enemy camp where soldiers in green uniforms moved back and forth on patrol. French guards watched from nearby in the trees, silent, keeping eyes on the adversaries. A cold autumn wind passed by, stirring downed leaves and dust into the air and causing dead grasses to undulate like waves upon a sea. A callous sea that waited to embrace those who might fight and die there.

“We are far inside the line,” warned Rohan. “We’re in great danger here.”

Philippe said nothing.

“Sire, I promised your brother.”

Philippe gave Rohan a sharp look. “Promised him what?”

Rohan clearly did not want to answer. Still, he said, “That I would ensure your safety.” Philippe glared at Rohan then stalked away into the trees. He should have known Louis had sent Rohan for that very reason, but he’d chosen not to believe it. He could hear Rohan following and raised his arm to wave him back. Leave me be!

After a good many paces through briar and brush, he stopped by a tall, broad oak to relieve himself, and as he did he heard a scratching sound nearby. He peered around the oak to spy a bare-chested man in a gully, digging a shallow hole in which he first placed his sword and then his shirt. A green shirt, the uniform of the enemy. Here we have a deserter, Philippe thought. Fascinating.

“It’s not that easy, you know.”

The man looked up, shocked. His eyes widened and he looked about to see if others were with Philippe. Then he sighed. “I did not choose this war,” he said.

Philippe stepped from behind the tree. “Nor I. But it is what we do. I stand on one side, you on the other.”

“Your army’s cannons have killed many of my friends.”

“We are making history.”

The man scraped soil into the hole. “You stay and make history. I’m going home to my wife and child.”

“They live in a world forged by war,” said Philippe. “We are part of this creation. You cannot clean war out of your body because it is our body.”

“A father needs to see his child and tell him he is loved more than life.”

“How can you teach your son to face the future with courage if you cannot face your own? Your words will mean nothing.”

The deserter scowled. “Who are you?”

“Philippe, Duc d’ Orleans.”

The man laughed. Then realized Philippe was telling the truth. He stood on shaky legs and bowed dramatically. “Perhaps we will meet on the field tomorrow.”

“Perhaps.”

As Philippe turned he heard the deserter digging back into the hole to retrieve his sword and shirt.