Montigny smiled whimsically.
"Very salubrious, if it were not for the shooting stars."
Then as the soldier stared at him he hastened to explain.
"My quip. The shooting star was a Burgundian arrow a cloth-yard long which came winging its way over the walls at noon and made itself at home in my garden. Here is what the arrow carried."
He pulled from his pouch a small piece of parchment folded and sealed, and handed it to the seeming soldier. The disguised constable took the missive and scanned it narrowly.
"The seal has not been tampered with," he said to himself. Ren caught him up with a noble gesture of indignation.
"I never read other people's letters," he protested.
Thibaut shrugged his shoulders.
"It would have profited you little if you had," he said, as he broke the seal and turning aside stooped a little to read by the faint fire light what the letter said. It was couched in words that seemed commonplace enough, but Thibaut knew their secret meaning, knew that the Duke of Burgundy would do all that he asked, give him a duchy, give him the girl he coveted, all that he might ask for or lust for if he would only play the traitor and deliver Louis into the Duke of Burgundy's hands. As this was precisely what Thibaut was resolved to do, a pleased smile played over his lips as he tossed the parchment into the glowing ashes and watched it wither into nothingness. He turned to Montigny, who was watching him attentively.
"Can you command some safe rogues of your kidney who think better of
Burgundian gold than of the fool on the throne?"