Chapter 12

Intercepting Ibarra

Andoni Zilar eyed the six shrewd henchmen—his most trusted assassins— seated around the oval table in his oceanfront abode. He patiently waited for his efficient, discreet valets to finish serving the goblets of mead. Once the attendants had retreated from the private solar, he announced the reason for his clandestine summons.

“Comte Eztebe Ibarra departs for Paris in two weeks.” Zilar took a long pull from his chalice, wiped his firmly compressed lips, and set the goblet down before him. He rose from his seat, reached for a rolled document lying atop a burled walnut sideboard, and unfurled a map on the oak table. “He will travel northeast from Aquitaine, along this projected route.” Retracing the line he’d previously marked on the parchment paper with a long, skeletal finger, Zilar indicated the anticipated path of the importunate Lord of Montmarin. “It will take him approximately six weeks to travel from Biarritz to l’?le de la Cité in Paris. He will arrive in early December at le Palais Royal to sign the Yuletide Treaty with King Philippe le Bel of France and King Guillemin of Finistère from Bretagne. We must prevent—at all costs—this disastrous Alliance with Aquitaine.”

Zilar retook his seat, stretched out his long legs, and crossed sinewy arms over his broad chest. He furrowed his thick, dark brows. “Basati and his brother Gaultier have been called home to Brocéliande. The four dozen knights from le Chateau de Beaufort— sent here by King Guillemin of Finistère—have returned to Bretagne, triumphant in reclaiming Aquitaine for King Philippe of France.” Twirling his narrow mustache, he grinned wickedly at the six bearded brutes. “Now is the perfect time to strike.”

The crisp saline scent of the sea wafted in on the cool autumn breeze. Irresistible and intoxicating, the lure of le Chateau de Montmarin beckoned Zilar like a siren’s song. As the future lord of the oceanfront castle, endorsed and endowed by two majestic monarchs—Edward Longshanks of England and James II of Aragón—Zilar would control all shipping along the Atlantic coast from the north of Spain to the mouth of the Seine. And since the Spanish king also held title as Count of Provence, Count of Barcelona, and Lord of Montpellier, Zilar would profit from all trade along the Mediterranean shores as well.

Everything depended on preventing the disastrous Yuletide treaty.

The dreaded Alliance with Aquitaine.

Between Comte Ibarra of Biarritz, King Philippe le Bel of Paris, and King Guillemin of Finistère.

Zilar hissed like a tightly coiled snake. “You will assassinate Comte Ibarra before he reaches Paris. Here—at le Chateau de Tours in the Loire Valley.” He pointed to a designated location on the map. “You’ll pose as merchants transporting wine to Paris. I’ve arranged for you to stop at le Chateau de Tours en route. An entourage of knights who are loyal to Longshanks will accompany you, as if protecting the shipment. But in reality, they will provide additional reinforcement should any unforeseen events unfold.” He took another long pull of mead from his chalice. “One of Ibarra’s personal guards—Uribe—is a spy for the English crown. He will unlock the door to Ibarra’s private quarters, enabling you to slip in quietly, perform the deed, and depart without detection.” He scrutinized his men, his steely gaze shifting slowly as he made individual eye contact with each of his adept assassins. “In the morning, Ibarra’s body will be found with the wolf head dagger embedded in his back. We’ll eliminate Ibarra, prevent the disastrous Alliance with Aquitaine. And Basati will be arrested for the murder.”

Zilar shifted his attention to Gizon, the thief who had stolen the bags of silver and the distinctive dagger from Basati in the staged attack behind the Drunken Crow. “Use this weapon.” Zilar laid the unique blade with the curved bone handle and the carved head of a massive wolf upon the table. The emerald eye of the snarling beast blazed in the morning sun. “Basati owes Itzal Baroja a hundred pounds of silver. An exorbitant sum that he cannot repay, thanks to the unfortunate robbery in the alley near the Drunken Crow.” He snickered and downed the rest of his mead. “Spread the word in every tavern in town. Let it be known that Basati in drowning in debt to Itzal Baroja—a staunch supporter of Edward Longshanks and the English king’s rightful claim to Aquitaine. When Eztebe Ibarra’s corpse is found—murdered by Basati’s blade in le Chateau de Tours —it will appear that the Basque Wolf of Biarritz repaid his indebtedness with service rather than silver.”

Zilar rang a bell to summon an attendant, gesturing for more mead. Once the competent valet had refilled the goblets and exited the room, Andoni Zilar raised his chalice in tribute. “To your success, my infallible clan. When we eliminate Eztebe Ibarra and successfully thwart the Alliance with Aquitaine, I shall become Lord of Biarritz in le Chateau de Montmarin. And—as the wealthiest shipping merchant in all of France—I shall reward you most handsomely, my intrepid assassins. Beyond your wildest dreams.”

****

Dolssa was grateful for the night off from work at the Sultry Siren. Tonight, she’d prepared an omelette aux champignons for supper in the tiny kitchen of the room she rented above the tavern. By adding a large cookpot over the hearth and furnishing a corner of her bedroom with a small table and two chairs, she’d created the illusion of a separate kitchen and enlarged the living area within her single space. As she sat at the table by the fire, mending both of her worn homespun gowns, images of Gaultier’s handsome face danced in the flickering flames.

It had been weeks since he and his brother Basati had left Biarritz, called home to le Chateau de Landuc in the Forest of Brocéliande. Although she knew it was too soon for a letter to have reached her in Aquitaine, Dolssa kept hoping each day that she would receive news from the man she desperately loved.

Please let me hear from him soon. I pray he’ll keep his promise and come back to me. Before my father discovers where I’m hiding.

Dolssa shuddered at the thought. Her overbearing father—Velasco Calderón, Count of Zaragoza—had arranged for his daughter to wed the lecherous, decrepit, and wealthy Vicomte de Toulouse. Horrified by the idea of a forced marriage to the hideous noble, Dolssa had disguised herself as a commoner and escaped with a band of gypsies whose caravan had passed through Zaragoza en route from Barcelona to the Basque coast. For now, safely hidden in the Sultry Siren, she’d managed to elude her arrogant father, who would never imagine his highborn daughter working as a lowly serving wench in a tawdry tavern. Still, she prayed Gaultier would soon return to Biarritz, marry her, and whisk her far away to his native Bretagne.

She sighed wistfully, rising from her chair with the intention of going to bed, when an urgent knock sounded on her wooden door. Dolssa opened it to find Euri—a close friend who also worked at the Sultry Siren—standing beside a strikingly beautiful, curvaceous redhead.

Euri’s fair, freckled face was frantic. “Dolssa, we need your help. May we come in?”

“Of course.” Dolssa welcomed the pair of visitors into her humble room, closing and bolting the heavy door behind them. “What’s wrong?”

“This is Mélisende, the mistress of one of Andoni Zilar’s men. She overhead a private conversation with specific details of a planned assassination of Eztebe Ibarra. We must get an urgent message to Gaultier about his brother Basati. The murderous plot implicates him.” Euri gave Mélisende an encouraging nod. “Inform Dolssa what you told me.”

Amber eyes wide with fright, the auburn-haired mistress whispered, “Count Ibarra left Biarritz a few days ago. He’s traveling to Paris—to sign the Yuletide Treaty between King Guillemin of Finistère and King Philippe of France at le Palais Royal .” She swallowed forcefully, wiping her palms along the sides of her dress. “I overheard two of Zilar’s men say that Ibarra will make a planned stop at le Chateau de Tours in the Loire Valley along the way.” Mélisende grasped Dolssa’s hands. “Zilar’s men plan to kill Ibarra at that castle. With Basati’s dagger—the one with the head of the wolf. That will thwart the Alliance with Aquitaine, and Basati will be blamed for the crime.”

Dolssa dropped into a chair, stunned by the shocking news. We must get a message to Gaultier and Basati. But if Ibarra has already left, it will never reach them in time.

Euri pulled up a chair, sat down beside Dolssa, and took hold of her hand. “I sent a message to Xabi at le Chateau de Montmarin . I told him to assemble the knights in the Great Hall. I asked him to come here, to escort the three of us to the castle. I explained that we have critical news for Sir Aimeric de Tarn, the First Knight of Montmarin who’s in charge of the chateau during Count Ibarra’s absence. We’ll dispatch an urgent message to Gaultier and Basati. And pray that they can intercept Ibarra before it’s too late.”