There were courtesies to be observed, even if you were headed towards war, with an intent to kill a king.

They were presented to him in due course. With proper deference, they knelt.

“Speak,” he said. “What are you charged to say?”

They told him.

He hadn’t expected this, but it wasn’t a complete surprise. No military leader, no duke, no king wanted a battle. You could win, lose, or win at such a cost it amounted to losing—and so many different things went into which it was.

Even the weather could destroy you. Or save you. Better, if there were any pathways, to find a way around a looming battlefield. If there were not…well, he would fight, and expect to win.

“Where?” he said. Giving nothing away. He was good at that, when not provoked to rage.

They told him, and how they proposed the location be prepared. The place was a few days ahead for an army marching, rather less for men on horseback or with carts. The envoys suggested how matters might be arranged, handed van Aribert an envelope under royal seal.

“It is in writing here,” one of them said. He looked respectful, but not as afraid to be here as Barratin would have liked.

It seemed proper to him, this proposal of a parley. He’d have to decide, as he headed towards it, what he’d do if the king did—however belatedly—welcome him back to the council.

“I agree,” he said finally.

He could have consulted with his courtiers, but other than Burkard van Aribert’s there were no opinions he genuinely valued. Not a good thing for a leader, but it was a truth. A thing he’d need to address when time allowed, he thought.

“Wait,” he added. “I assume the king will be there? Not just a representative?”

“Yes, my lord,” one of the envoys said. “That is his desire and intent.”

“Good,” said Laurent de Barratin.

It was good. He wanted to see his cousin Roch in this alleged recovery from madness. Assessing that mattered.

“We will be there in three days, perhaps four. We will send the proper people ahead, to help prepare this meeting place. You may tell the king. You will be given food and drink and fresh horses. May Jad,” he added, “be with us all, and Ferrieres.”

“Yes, my lord,” the lead envoy said, and made the sign of the sun disk.

Laurent de Barratin did the same. He ought to have done it first, he thought.

The two men were escorted away. They would not linger. Time mattered now.

This proposal was a new thing, Barratin thought again, but it might work very well for him.

He looked over at van Aribert, who nodded briskly. “I will arrange the necessary craftsmen and supplies, and an escort for them,” he said.