Thief By Knight

CHAPTER SEVEN

A cold wind crept in among the bushes where they were hiding and trailed icy fingers along the back of Grantaire's neck. Shivering, he pulled up the hood of his cloak. Jarle and Reine, crouching beside him, seemed oblivious to the chill night air as they surveyed the town of Jonquierre.
It was a quiet, little town, not much more than a village. From the hill top where they watched, they could see right down the main street. A row of street lamps lined one side, their flames wrestling with the breeze. A young couple strolled beneath them, his arm around her shoulder while she leaned into his warmth. They passed by a squat, wooden building that might have been a tavern. Two tired-looking horses were tethered in front of it. The smoke pouring from its chimney filled the air with the cozy scent of burning logs. Everything looked perfectly normal.
Which meant Enjolras had been clever enough to hide his troops. Or they weren't here. Grantaire considered the time it should have taken Enjolras to find the warning in the shrine, organize his father's men, and get them to Jonquierre. It had taken the bandits' horses three full days to recover from the poisoned feed -- surely that was enough. Unless Enjolras had been too sick to follow him. He'd been so weak when Grantaire left. What if he was still in Mortain? Grantaire shuddered. Suddenly he felt hot and sweaty, despite the chill air. What was he going to do if the bandits charged into town and no one was there to stop them? He couldn't thwart the raid all by himself.
Beside him, Reine muffled a cough with a gloved hand. In the town below, the strolling couple disappeared around the corner. For a few minutes, the street was empty, the town silent. Then the door to the tavern opened, spilling the cheerful trill of a flute into the street beyond. Two men lurched out the door. They were both big and muscular, but clumsy in their drunken state. They staggered over to two of the tethered horses and hauled themselves into the saddles. They rode off at a slow walk in the same direction the young couple had gone.
They had seen nothing usual. Had Enjolras planned it this way to lure the unsuspecting bandits into a trap? Or were the towns-folk completely unaware of the danger? There was no way for him to tell. Not for the first time, Grantaire wished for just a little of Enjolras's divine insight.
"Come on," Jarle whispered. "I've seen enough."
Grantaire tried to look cheerful as they went back to report to Armand that the town was unguarded. The bandit leader smiled at the news, rubbing his hands together in eager anticipation. Quickly, he gathered the men close to him. Many of them carried torches, prepared to light the houses on fire. Armand's green eyes reflected their light like twin fire-flies.
"This is it men. This town is going to be different from anything we've done before. This time, we're not gong to nip at their heels like wild dogs, taking a bit of meat and then running away with our tails between our legs. This time we're going to ride straight down the heart of town. There's nothing to stop us but frightened peasants. Kill anyone who gets in your way."
The men didn't cheer; they were too close to the town to risk the noise. They wanted the "frightened peasants" to be caught unaware. But Grantaire could sense the excitement building in the men around him. Jarle slapped Grantaire on the back, winking, and he managed to smile at him. A cold weight settled in his stomach at the thought of what was going to happen if Enjolras wasn't there to stop it.
Tense and sweating as he mounted his mare, Grantaire forgot to keep a wary eye on her teeth. For once, she didn't try to bite him. She shifted nervously beneath him, but didn't prance or try to grab the bit. Maybe she realized that tonight her rider simply didn't have any patience left for bad-tempered horses.
Leonce gave the signal -- a loud whistle, sharp and clear. Grantaire's mare sprang forward. He lurched back in the saddle, then snatched up the reins before he lost them. The press of riders all around carried them along like a branch in a rushing river. Some of the riders held torches above their heads. Grantaire was grateful that he was able to hold on with both hands. He gripped the reins with all his strength, ignoring the pain as they cut into his palms. Sweat stung his eyes -- he didn't dare wipe it away. The pounding beat of horses' hooves shook the ground beneath them. Grantaire leaned closer to the saddle. Falling now would be the death of him. He was riding in the maelstrom, and there was no way out until the storm broke.
They crested the hill and rushed into the town. Men ran at the sight of them. Others dove into open doors like gophers into holes. Bandits leaped off their mounts to give chase. Those bearing torches pulled aside to light the buildings. The thatch caught easily and flame spread across the roof tops. The air filled with smoke.
Grantaire peered into the gloom, his eyes tearing. Where was Enjolras? Surely he wouldn't have allowed townspeople to stand in the street to be slaughtered while they rode into town. He would have posted look-outs. He would have known they were coming. Had Grantaire's warning come too late?
The mare dug in her feet and stopped. Grantaire lurched forward, his ribs hitting the pommel with bruising force. He dropped the reins. A rider brushed past him, bumping his shoulder. Behind him, a horse screamed and pawed the air. Grantaire reached down and pulled up the reins.
Sitting up in the saddle, he looked around to see that the bandits had stopped moving. Soldiers faced them from both ends of the street. The men in front stared down the length of notched arrows. Ahead of them, archers side-stepped to let a rider through. It was Enjolras. The blue-bordered unicorn rearing on his shield seemed to scream defiance. Grantaire wanted to cheer.
"Lay down your arms," Enjolras ordered, his deep voice booming in the suddenly quiet street. "In the name of..."
"Retreat!"
Armand didn't wait for his men to follow his order. He turned his mount and bolted past the stables without a second's hesitation. Some of his men tried to follow. Grantaire felt the deadly breeze of an arrow fly over his head; if Enjolras had told his soldiers there was an ally among the bandits, they didn't seem too worried about it. In front of him a man screamed and fell, clutching an arrow at his throat. It was Reine. Blood gushed down the front of his fine, silk tunic.
Another bandit rode past him, knocking the mare aside. The horses trampled Reine's body, shod hooves grinding his features into the dirt road. Grantaire's mare snorted and pawed the ground. He gave her her head. Maybe she could find a quick way out of this mess. Grantaire wasn't sure what he should do, or how he could help. As far as he knew, he was as likely to get cut down by Enjolras's allies as the real bandits. His best bet was to get out of the way.
They charged down the smoke-filled alley beside the tavern, only to find it choked with battling men and horses. The mare back-stepped, tossing her head. Yanking on the reins, Grantaire managed to turn her around and head back they way they'd come. A soldier blocked their path. He sat tall on a great, black charger. His blue and white tunic was covered with blood. There was no time for explanations. The soldier kicked his horse and charged, waving his sword.
Grantaire watched the terrible apparition come toward him, screaming. His mare, no battle-seasoned mount, reared. Grantaire fell backward. He watched the reins slip out of his hands, helplessly, as if it were happening to someone else. His head smacked hard against the ground, and his breath left him. The mare charged past the astonished soldier, who hastily forced his stallion aside to leave her room to flee.

Grantaire struggled to get up. His bruised muscles were slow and stiff. He was still pushing himself up with one hand when the soldier raised his blade for the killing blow.
He fell with the hilt of a knife sticking out of his forehead. The stallion took a few prancing steps backward, then stopped to sniff at his suddenly motionless rider. Grantaire turned around. Jarle stood beside him with another knife in his hand. Dead men littered the alley behind him like garbage, some of them wearing the blue and white livery of Cheval. For the moment, they were the only living men in sight.
"Grab that stallion! We've got to get out of here."
We? Jarle still thought Grantaire was one of them. He'd just saved his life. He didn't know Grantaire had betrayed them. He didn't know. What was he supposed to do now?
Jarle shouldered past him and reached for the stallion's reins. It reared, lashing out with its hooves. Jarle danced out of the way. The horse turned and bolted. Jarle started to race after it.
One of the bandits rode up to the alley. He stopped, his big horse blocking the exit. It was Leonce. He raised his blade to parry the fierce attack of another rider in Cheval's blue and white. Their blades met with a loud clash, then slid apart as the rider thundered past on his white stallion. The soldier wheeled and came back for another attack. It was Enjolras.
"Damn it," Jarle swore. "There's nowhere to go."
Grantaire looked behind them. The alley had filled up again with men hacking at each other with sword and dagger. Jarle seemed to have no inclination to help his other comrades.
One of the men fighting in front of them screamed. Grantaire turned back around, worried. Leonce and Enjolras fought side by side, their horses dancing in nervous circles while they slashed and parried. Leonce had switched his blade to his left arm. His right arm hung at his side, limp and bloody. Enjolras's chest and arms were splashed with blood. Grantaire couldn't tell if he was injured or not.
The combatants wheeled around, leaving Enjolras's back to them. Jarle raised his knife to throw it. Grantaire pushed Jarle into the tavern wall. He slammed his arm against the bricks, making him drop the knife. Jarle stared at him, his eyes widening in sudden realization. He shoved Grantaire away.
Grantaire pulled out his dagger. Jarle leaped on top of him, knocking them both to the ground. He grabbed Grantaire's hand, trying to squeeze the dagger out of his grip while he held him down.
"You bastard. You betrayed us."
Grantaire didn't answer. Jarle's knee dug into his stomach. His breath left him. He felt the dagger slide out of his grasp. Jarle let him go, and they both lunged for it. Jarle was quicker. He snatched it up and rolled to his feet, slashing at Grantaire even as he stood and backed away. The edge of the blade caught his arm, burning a trail across it. Jarle grinned.
"You're dead, friend."
Jarle lunged again. Grantaire ducked under the blade and kicked at his feet. Jarle stumbled, righted himself. Grantaire tried to get up. Jarle spun and kicked, connecting with Grantaire's jaw. Pain stunned him. His vision blurred. Grantaire fell on his side, knowing he was about to die.
He heard a scream. Grantaire looked up, his vision clearing. Jarle lay before him, his eyes staring up, blood pooling on his chest. Grantaire scrambled to his feet. Enjolras stood beside Jarle, his sword dripping blood. Ganelon cast a big shadow behind him.
"Are you all right?"
Grantaire nodded. He stared down at the Jarle's body, face-down in the alley. "He thought I was his friend. I guess I was, once."
"Take this." Enjolras thrust his shield at him. Grantaire took it, confused. "Hold onto it. My men will know you for an ally. Stay here for now -- you'll be safer."
Enjolras mounted Ganelon and wheeled the patient horse around. Grantaire tried to call out to him, but he couldn't seem to form any words. He stepped past Jarle's body and looked out into the street. It was mostly empty, except for bodies. Leonce lay on his back in front of him, his eyes closed. Grantaire's mare stood across the street, miraculously unhurt.
Where was Enjolras? Fighting more bandits, no doubt. He might need help. Trying not to look at Jarle's body, Grantaire slung the shield over his shoulder and bent to pick up the dagger. He walked slowly over to the mare, trying not to startle her. She was trembling. Sweat darkened her chest and legs to a muddy brown.
"Easy girl." They were the first kind word's he'd spoken to her without Enjolras's prompting. She turned around and nosed him. Grantaire stuck the dagger into his belt and patted her nose. "Come on. Enjolras needs us."
She didn't protest as Grantaire climbed into the saddle. He could hear men screaming in the distance. Around him, the buildings still smoldered.
"Come on, let's go find Enjolras." He rode through the eerily quiet streets, searching. He passed a group of soldiers, who glanced at him, then rode past. He didn't see any bandits. Where was everyone? He rode the mare away from the main street, where the smoke wasn't as bad. He looked around. He spotted the shadowy form of Armand in the distance, clinging to his horse as they sped away at full gallop. Grantaire kicked his mare into a run. He didn't think he could catch Armand, but he had to try.
The mare was fast, for a small horse. But she was never going to catch up. Just as Grantaire was beginning to accept this, he spotted another rider hurtling towards Armand on a big, white horse. As fast as that animal was running, Armand might have been standing still.
Armand wheeled his gelding around so abruptly its feet pawed a protest in the air. Enjolras's stallion reared in answer, screaming in fury and lashing out with its hooves. As Grantaire drew closer -- as close as his mare was willing to come -- he could see the blades meet when Armand parried a violent thrust from Enjolras.
Grantaire reached down to pull a throwing knife from his boot. He gripped its finely balanced blade and watched the battle, wishing he dared to throw it. As the two combatants circled and slashed at each other, his blade could as easily find Enjolras as Armand. Grantaire had no choice but to sit and watch, no matter how useless he felt.
The horses danced around, their hooves kicking up clods of moist earth. Enjolras swung at Armand's head. Armand parried, knocking Enjolras back with the force of his blow. Ganelon screamed and reared. The horses circled each other again. Enjolras barely ducked a jab from Armand that would have cost him an eye. As if in retribution, Ganelon lashed out and bit Armand's gelding in the neck. The animal reared, screaming in pain. Armand was thrown off balance. Enjolras swung his blade like a club, hitting Armand in the shoulder with the flat of it and sending him somersaulting out of the saddle.
Armand hit the ground hard and lay still. His gelding pranced backward and stood trembling, its desire to flee clearly warring with its training to stand beside its fallen master. Ganelon would have pursued, but Enjolras held him back. He dismounted. He held his blade ready as he warily regarded the still form of Armand. Was he dead or unconscious? Or was the little rat just waiting for Enjolras to let his guard down? Grantaire wouldn't put it past him.
He couldn't stand here watching any more. When kicking the mare got him nothing but a rolling eye and a half-hearted attempt to bite his leg, Grantaire slid out of the saddle. He wanted to be with Enjolras in case Armand tried anything treacherous. He ignored the shield as it slid from his grasp and fell face down in the dirt. He took a step towards Enjolras.
Pain stopped him from taking another. It bit without warning through his back, reaching for his heart with sharp claws. Gasping for breath, he turned around. One of Cheval's soldiers was dimly visible among the shadows as he fitted another arrow to his bow. Grantaire tried to pick up Enjolras's shield. But his limbs had grown heavy and numb, even less responsive to his wishes than that wretched mare. He thought he heard Enjolras shouting his name. Then his vision blurred, and his eyes closed.

***

The pain was still with him when he opened his eyes, but it was fading. Grantaire blinked as the darkness resolved into the night around him, lit by stars and a full moon that revealed Enjolras kneeling by his side. He was frowning, his brows creased with worry and fatigue. Grantaire could see a shallow cut that dripped blood down one cheek.
"How do you feel?"
"You healed me," Grantaire said. After seeing Enjolras work his miracles on so many others, he was still filled with a sense of wonder knowing they'd been used to help him.
"Yes. You were hit by an arrow."
Grantaire remembered the archer hiding in the shadows, the source of the pain that had sliced into his back while Enjolras had been fighting Armand. "I dropped your shield."
"I know. I'm sorry."
Grantaire sat up with a helping hand from Enjolras. Standing in a protective circle around them were a group of armed men, all of them wearing the blue and white livery of Cheval. He was surprised to see Felix standing next to a young knight who looked like a smaller, slighter version of Enjolras.
"What happened? Where's Armand?"
"He escaped," said Enjolras.
"You let him get away?" Grantaire felt a little guilty at the dismay that crept into his voice. After all, Enjolras had just saved his life. But Armand had been flat on his back at Enjolras's mercy. How could he let him get away after all of Grantaire's hard work?
"Armand fled while I was healing you. My men arrived in time to chase him away, but they were set upon by some of his followers and could not catch him."
So it was Grantaire's fault. If Enjolras hadn't stopped to heal him, they would have had Armand. He knew it was irrational, but Grantaire suddenly felt like he was being blamed for all this.
"Why didn't you take care of him before you healed me?" he asked a bit defensively.

Cocking his head to one side, Enjolras regarded him with a bemused expression that was almost, but not quite, a smile. "Grantaire, you were badly wounded. Surely you can understand that I value your life far more than capturing a bandit?"
Grantaire was stunned. Enjolras had delayed his bid for the crown to hunt down Armand. He let him escape rather than allow Grantaire to suffer for a moment. Grantaire was used to living among thieves, who professed a certain level of friendship as long as it was convenient. He had never known this kind of loyalty. He wanted to say something to express his gratitude, but he could only stare at Enjolras in astonishment, unable to find any words that didn't sound foolish.
"All right, you've been sitting there long enough." Felix's remark broke through the awkward silence. Grantaire looked over his shoulder to see the priest standing behind him. He smiled to take the sting out of his words.
"You're healed now. Get up. There are others in need of Enjolras's help. And I suppose they'll want to thank you for saving their lives."
Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "Why Felix, you actually sound grateful."
Felix only snorted in disgust. "I'm grateful enough this is all over. Now we can go on to San Sebastien like we'd planned. Enjolras, I know you said we could go after tracking down the bandits. But I'd like to go with you. I want to see this through."
"Me too," Grantaire was quick to add. A small voice inside him told him he was being a fool, but he ignored it. It felt good to repay Enjolras's loyalty in kind.
Enjolras looked at them in surprise. "Thank you both," he said. "I am touched by your loyalty. But we still have to hunt down Armand."

***

Grantaire awoke the next morning feeling sore and weary. The sun shone through the window of his room to bathe his face and arms in a comforting glow. The bed's feather mattress and lamb's wool blankets extended a soft invitation for the sleeper to remain huddled beneath them for as long as possible. He gratefully accepted that invitation. After a night spent helping Enjolras cart away dead bodies and deal with prisoners, Grantaire had slept the deep and dreamless sleep of the truly exhausted. For the moment, the grateful innkeeper who had provided these rooms was more of a hero to him than Enjolras was for saving his life.
Outside he could hear the busy chattering of jays. From elsewhere in the inn, a door slammed and a voice cried good morning. Signs that the rest of the world was up and about. Grantaire would have liked to let it go on without him.
He didn't have that luxury. Groaning, he sat up in bed, running his hands through his unruly hair and recalling all too well Enjolras's words from the night before -- we still have to hunt down Armand. Not even I, but we. Enjolras just assumed Grantaire and Felix would help him. After all, they had promised.
Well, Enjolras wasn't going to get away with it this time. No one had the time or energy to argue with him last night, but it was a whole new day. Grantaire was determined to talk him out of it. Remembering the incredulous look on Felix's face when Enjolras had made his declaration, he knew the priest would back him up on this one.
He dragged himself out of bed, tripping as his foot got caught in the blankets. He was still so damned tired. He ought to demand extra wages for having to start the days at such ridiculous hours. Stumbling over to the wash basin, he splashed water on his face, shivering as the cold drops ran down his bare neck and chest. Someone had provided a mirror, soap and a razor. A not so subtle hint from Enjolras. There was also a clean shirt and trousers folded carefully over the wooden chest beside the bed. Grantaire knew he was filthy, but it didn't bother him as much as it seemed to disturb Enjolras. He thought about going downstairs in his dirty clothes just to be contrary. But, thinking his friend might be more open to persuasion if Grantaire complied with this one small, unspoken request, he shaved, washed and put on the clean clothes first. He had to admit it felt good to be clean for a change.
He found Enjolras sitting in the common room beside the fire. Felix shared his table, and the young knight who looked like Enjolras. He must be a cousin or a brother. No one had introduced them last night. Grantaire remembered Enjolras's story of leaving home without warning. Did his family hold it against him?
Felix looked up when he saw Grantaire approaching. "It's about time you crawled out of bed. Thought you were going to sleep all day."
Ignoring the grumpy priest, Enjolras gave him a welcoming smile. "Grantaire, good morning. Come, sit with us. This is my brother, Julien."
Julien stood as Grantaire stepped up to the table and held out his hand. Grantaire shook it, marveling at his resemblance to his brother. He was a bit shorter, a little less muscular, and his eyes were brown, not blue. Everything else was the same, from the thick black hair and firm jaw to the way he stood tall and straight, with the confidence of a man who had rarely had cause to doubt himself.
"Good morning," said Julien. Even his voice was the same. "It's good to see you again. We've been having a little argument, and Felix promised me you'd be on our side."
Grantaire blinked at Julien in confusion as a serving wench stepped between them. She put a steaming plate of eggs and sausage in front of him. His stomach growled, and he suddenly had difficulty concentrating on the conversation.
"What argument?" he asked, his eyes on the sausage.
"Julien, you really should let Grantaire eat his breakfast first. He just woke up."
"You're just trying to shut him up with food because you know he'll be on my side."
Grantaire was amazed. Julien was teasing Enjolras. He shook a finger at him and grinned. Someone in Enjolras's family had a sense of humor. He looked at Enjolras, who was giving his brother the same indulgent frown he always wore when Grantaire tried to tease him. Whatever had happened when Enjolras left, there didn't seem to be any animosity between these two.
"Whose side? What's going on?"
"Eat," Enjolras ordered.
Obediently, Grantaire began shoveling food into his mouth. "All right," he mumbled around a mouthful of sausage, "I'm eating. What's going on?"
Enjolras started to answer, but he was interrupted by the arrival of a group of towns-folk. They were led by a tall, lanky fellow who beamed at everyone while twisting his felt hat in his hands, betraying his nervousness.
"Sorry to interrupt you again, my lords." He nodded at Enjolras and Julien. "But if Sir Grantaire is awake now, we've been waiting to thank him for everything he's done for us."
Sir Grantaire? He waited for Enjolras to deny his sudden promotion. He only smiled and nodded at the man.
"Certainly, Quesnel. Grantaire, may I present Quesnel, Lord Mayor of Jonquierre. He's one of my father's most loyal men."
Quesnel blushed at the praise. "Thank you, my lord. You're too kind." He turned to face Grantaire and gave him a little bow. This was getting embarrassing.
"Sir Grantaire -- "
Grantaire couldn't take all this fawning, especially over breakfast. "Please, it's just Grantaire. I'm not a knight. I'm just Enjolras's guide."
"Oh." The mayor seemed surprised. "I'm terribly sorry. It's just that, after everything you've done -- such bravery -- I, well, I assumed you were of noble birth."
Felix snorted. "He's hardly that, Lord Mayor."
"Indeed." Abruptly, Quesnel remembered his manners. He straightened his shoulders, recovering some of his dignity. "Well, Grantaire, if you're not a nobleman, then you deserve to be knighted for what you've done. Sir Enjolras has told us how you risked your life, riding with those ruffians so you could warn him of their plans. And all to save our humble town, people you've never even met. That was noble of you, sir. And very brave. You have our everlasting gratitude."
Grantaire glanced at Enjolras, hoping he would send this man on his way. Quesnel's overblown speech made him uncomfortable, and he wanted to finish his breakfast. The sausage was getting cold. Enjolras was watching the whole thing with a big smile on his face. Of course, he was used to this.
"You're welcome. It was nothing, really."
"You are too modest, good sir. Please allow us to give you a small token of our gratitude." He gestured to one of the men standing behind him, a big, burly lad whose muscles stretched the seams of his ill-fitting shirt to bursting. The boy hefted a wooden chest onto the table, knocking aside Grantaire's plate, and opened it.
Coins spilled out. They were mostly bronze, but Grantaire spied not a few silver and gold among them. There was even a necklace, made of some dark blue gem he didn't recognize. For a small town like this, it was a fortune.
"I -- I don't know what to say."
"Please, take it. It is the least we can do."
Grantaire thought of the buildings Armand and his men had burned. Jonquierre had a lot of rebuilding to do. There were other losses as well -- not all of the bodies they'd buried last night had been bandits. The funeral service Felix had been asked to lead today would touch many of the families who lived here. Including the children.
Grantaire pushed the chest away. "No, I can't take your money." Quesnel stared at him, eyes wide with alarm, and Felix blinked in surprise. But Grantaire didn't miss Enjolras's slight nod of approval. He was doing the right thing.
"Don't be offended, Lord Mayor. But your people need this money more than I do. Enjolras -- Sir Enjolras has paid me well for my services. Believe me, your gratitude is all the reward I need."
Grantaire was pleased with himself -- it was a pretty speech. Mayor Quesnel seemed impressed as well. He gestured for the boy to pick up the chest. Grantaire couldn't help noticing the relief on the faces of some of the farmers as their "small token" was returned to them.
Quesnel bowed again. "You sir, are an honorable man. My people will not forget your kindness." With that, he gathered up us lackeys and left them to their breakfast.
Felix shook his head. "I never thought I'd live to see a man call you honorable and mean it."
"Felix, really." Enjolras smiled at Grantaire. "That was nobly done, my friend. Quesnel was right. You do deserve to be knighted."
"What?" Grantaire was trying to eat the rest of cold sausage. He let the fork fall to his plate. "What did you say?"
"You deserve to be knighted."
"Enjolras, you can't be serious," said Felix. "He's a common thief."
"Felix, for a priest you're a very unforgiving man. Grantaire is a thief no longer. And he was never common."
"Enjolras is right," said Julien. He was the only person who could be considered neutral to this discussion, and Grantaire was surprised to hear his support for this ridiculous idea. "We can speak to father about it."
Enjolras looked troubled. "I don't know. We really don't have time."
"No time? Surely you wouldn't come to Cheval and not even stop by to see him?" He shook his head. "What will it take to make you give up this ridiculous plan of yours?"
Grantaire was confused. "What plan?"
"Julien disapproves of my plans to hunt down Armand."
"Damn right I do." Julien leaned closer to Grantaire. "He wants to ride into Essai to search for him. Baron Renee loves our family like a good case of indigestion. He'd love an excuse to throw Enjolras in his dungeon, or worse."
Grantaire decided he liked Julien very much. It was clear who'd gotten the common sense in the family. He wondered what their father was like.
"I don't know why you're so worried about Armand," he said. "Most of his men are captured or dead -- he can't go around pillaging small towns all by himself."
Enjolras frowned at him. "He may have other allies, Grantaire; we've no way of knowing how many. Regardless, Armand has committed crimes against our people, and he deserves to be punished."
"Sure he does. And the sun has to set at night, and the flowers must bloom in the spring. But it can happen without you, Enjolras. You need to get to San Sebastien in two weeks. Or did you decide to forget about becoming king and spend the rest of your life chasing down bandits?"
The sudden silence at the table surprised Grantaire. He looked around, wondering what he'd said. Felix seemed just as confused as he was. Julien was staring at his brother in complete astonishment.
"Forget about becoming king? Enjolras, what is he talking about?"
"He didn't tell you?" Had he blundered here by revealing something Enjolras was trying to hide from his brother? Why would he want to do that? They seemed to trust each other. He slid a glance at Felix, who only shrugged. For once, he didn't seem to think Grantaire was at fault.
"I'm sorry, Julien." Enjolras stared at the table instead of looking at his brother.
"Sorry for what? Enjolras, what's going on?"
"When I left the priesthood, there wasn't time to send word. Armand was a distraction, Julien. Grantaire and I were going to San Sebastien to see the Archbishop."
Enjolras dared to look up at his brother then, and he winced at what he saw there. Grantaire didn't blame him. Julien shook his head in denial, as if his brother had somehow betrayed him.
"I thought you were coming back home. I should have known better. Tell me, brother, would you have invited us to the coronation, or would you have sent one of your lackeys to tell Father that his son was the first king of Cambrai?"
"Julien, that's not fair."
"Isn't it? Enjolras, he was crushed when you left home. You know how much he depended on your advice. How could you just shut him out of your life like this?"
Grantaire exchanged a nervous glance with Felix. It was awkward, sitting here in the middle of a family argument.
"Um, maybe we should go."
He stood, as did Felix, who looked relieved. But Enjolras joined them.
"You're right, Grantaire. We should be on our way. Armand will be difficult enough to find without further delays."
"Wait a minute. That wasn't what I meant."
"Enjolras!" Julien lunged to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor. The serving wench stared at them, no doubt wondering why the town's saviors were getting so worked up over breakfast.
"You can't just leave. We're half a day's ride from home. Can't you even spare your family a visit?"
"Of course he can," Grantaire jumped in. He didn't want to give Enjolras a chance to say no. He and Felix had failed to talk any sense into him, but maybe his family still stood a chance.
"We could certainly use the rest," Felix added. He gave Enjolras a wry smile. "I'm not as young as you are, son. It's a hard pace you've been setting."
"That's right, Enjolras. You're going to drag this decaying, old priest to his death if you keep this up."
Julien smiled at his brother, trying to make amends. "I have maps of the bandits' activity that could be very useful to you. Please, Enjolras. Come home with me. Just for a day or two. Surely your hunt for Armand can wait that long?"
"I can see I am outnumbered here. Very well, we will go to Touraine. It will be good to see home again."
Julien embraced him, and the two left to organize their men. Grantaire flashed a triumphant smile at Felix.
"Well, it looks like we won this one."
"Did we?" Felix sighed. "I'm glad we're going to Touraine. I, for one could use the rest. And it will be interesting to meet the rest of Enjolras's family. But, somewhere along the line, we seem to have agreed to hunt down Armand."
The truth of Felix's words hit him like a blow. Enjolras had tricked them. The miracle worker; the man who hadn't told a lie since he left his mother's womb. He had tricked them into doing what he wanted. There was no other explanation. Shaking his head in dismay, he picked up Julien's tankard and downed the rest of his cooling tea.
"Felix," he said, "you can't trust anyone."

---

Next Chapter