March 02nd, 1798

The revolutionary army had Marsan completely surrounded. Turns out, in a surprising turn of events, that general Bautzen and the Duke hadn't arrived at the city at all. General Hotchner was defending it by himself, with less than 6000 men, a hundred cannons, few provisions and no cavalry. His situation was dire since his last battle against the revolutionary army and with the absence of his allies —who were supposed to aid him in this new conflict, but never came around— he was now helpless.

Which is why him and the city's current governor, bishop Simon, tried to stop the crossfire before it began and hung a white flag over the exterior stone walls of the city, begging for a peace treaty and an opportunity to surrender without bloodshed.

Seeing that piece of cloth fly over the parapet made commander Laupin feel relieved, and extremely lucky, because he knew Marsan very well.

The city was fairly big compared to the ones they had been in before, and conquering it would be hard if their enemy was numerous, well fed and well rested. The battle would have been yet another gruesome one, as he had told Francis hours before. But fate had intervened in their favor. And now things were very different to what he'd envisioned in his head throughout the morning.

—Well, this was easier than I thought it would be —general Obermann's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, as he said out loud exactly what Laupin was thinking.

—What should we do now? —major Luckner asked next.

—Withhold fire, I guess. But be ready for any surprise attacks from these bastards. I'll go to the gates in person to negotiate a ceasefire between us, and their unconditional surrender —Obermann replied, then looked at Laupin and Francis—. You two, come along with me. I'll need backup in case anything goes wrong.

—As you wish, monsieur.

The three men then rode their horses until they reached the drawbridge that led to the city. There was a big moat around Marsan, that was dug during the middle ages to protect it from attacks from foreign barbarians and soldiers —which were quite common during the time—. As the bridge was lowered, the Portcullis was lifted.

General Hotchner was on the other side, looking worse for wear, with his gaunt face and his pale skin. He was standing in front of his men, who seemed to be equally tired and underfed as him. They all looked one step away from death.

—May our good God have mercy upon us —Obermann whispered, before he dropped from his horse, and onto the moist ground below.

Laupin and Francis followed him closely, as the rest of their army watched their movements from afar. Hotchner gulped and stepped forwards as well, leaving the defense line of his hometown to meet with his enemy in the in-between. Suddenly, both the royalists and the revolutionaries were five feet apart from each other.

—Are you here to surrender? —the head of the rebels asked.

—I am, monsieur. I also am here to offer my life, as well as the life of bishop Simon, in exchange for the lives of our people. I understand we are in no position to bargain, but I beg you, please show mercy towards the poor souls hiding inside of these walls. Most of them are harmless farmers, that only agreed to fight in our army because we forced them to... Because I forced them to.

—And where is the bishop? —Obermann asked with a flat tone, seemingly not giving a damn about the petition.

—Inside the abbey. He lives there, since the revolution started. Him and the monks of Good Faith.

—Why isn't he out here, with you, if he is offering his life in the name of others?

—Because he's a 95 years old man, monsieur. Descending from the top of the abbey to get here would kill him before a bullet could. It was already a challenge to move him from the Riennes cathedral to there...

—So why should I care about him at all? If he's so old and frail, why would I accept him as tribute?

—Because he was the spiritual leader of Marsan —Laupin spoke next, before Hotchner could—. People in here respect him. If he dies by the blade of his enemies, their ideals die with him.

—And how on earth do you know that, commander?

—Because I was born here, monsieur —he confessed, and gulped hard—. This is my hometown, as much as its general Hotchner's.

Now Francis was finally able to understand why Laupin had been so scared of invading this particular city. He didn't dread the enemy, nor the violence that an armed conflict between them would ensue. He dreaded seeing his childhood friends standing against him in the battlefield. He was terrified of having to kill someone he personally knew, and used to love.

—Why didn't you share his information before, then?

—Didn't want to —Laupin said to Obermann with a sharpness that left both generals, rebel and royalist, stunned—. Didn't need to.

—We'll have a word about this later.

—It's in my papers, monsieur. They say I was born here. You can ask the republican directory, they will corroborate the information. Therefore, I have nothing to discuss with you.

Obermann opened his mouth to speak, but reconsidered at the last moment. He sighed, looked at Hotchner and said:

—I want all of your soldiers out of the citadel and the bastions, now. Tell them to drop their weapons on the ground and get out in straight, even lines. They'll be arrested for the time being, but we won't kill them.

—Isn't there any other way?...

—No —the winning general interrupted the royalist—. Do you want the lives of the women, the children and the elderly to be spared? Then move your battalions outside, where my men can see them, and tell them to stay put. No one is getting shot, I assure you that, but I must arrest them. For safety reasons.

—Understood —Hotchner replied, looking and sounding utterly defeated—. I'll go inside and repeat the orders. Just a minute, please.

As the man left, Laupin released a weary exhale and crossed his arms tightly, as if trying to soothe himself. Obermann thankfully didn't say a word. And Francis, well, he just watched.

When Hotchner returned, he was followed by the obedient lines of his men, who had their hands raised up and their eyes glued to the ground, as if to prove that they didn't impose a threat to anyone. As they moved, Laupin gasped, recognizing quite a few of them.

—Who are they? —Obermann asked in a hushed voice, and seemed a little more caring than before—. Who are these people to you?

—Neighbors. Friends. Brothers from another mother.

—Names, Camille. I'll need names.

—Why? So you can kill them first?

—No, so I can try to save them from the Directory's orders.

Laupin gulped again, and this time, he looked like he was about to cry.

—Tiberius Lafey, was the son of the baker. Alphonse Beschell, son of the milkman. Gaston Lamartine... My best friend since the cradle. He lived next door to me.

—Who's that last one?

—Black hair with moustache, over there —the commander pointed towards one of the soldiers.

—I'll do what I can —Obermann promised, as more and more men came out of the city walls—. We'll see about their future together.

Once everyone was outside, sitting on the dirt, with their hands tied and their guns confiscated, half of the revolutionary army went inside of the citadel. They were met by the terrified eyes of the locals, their tense silence, and their stiff postures. The only sound that could be heard in all of the city was the cries of babies and the babble of children. Otherwise, everything was dead quiet.

Obermann, Laupin and Francis led the march towards the abbey, that was built on the top of a mount. To get there, they had to walk in circles through the city, following a series of narrow stairs and pathways. It wasn't an easy or short climb, and by the end of it, most of the troops were breathless. But alas, they had made it.

—Do not kill anyone until I say so! —Obermann ordered, as the other three generals that accompanied him opened the doors of the temple. They were received by a sea of monks, all wearing their traditional black and brown robes and their short tonsure. Some were praying, holding onto their wooden beads and crosses like a lifeline, while others were stunned into silence, like the peasants below—. Gentlemen! I will ask this once, not twice! Where is bishop Simon?

Initially, there was silence. Then, a thin and scared voice replied from the back of the guesthouse —that preceded the cloister and the monks' dormitory—. Following its echo, a lanky and tall man stepped forward. He was the only one that wore a scapular, and was therefore easily identified at the abbot in charge of the abbey:

—The bishop in his is room, resting. He's down with a cold, and his health is weak.

—Take me to him, immediately —Obermann demanded, and against his will, the stranger complied—. Laupin, Forestier, you two come along.

—And what do I do? —general Munsch asked, as he stared Obermann down.

Zolovksy and Hessler had stayed outside to look after their troops and their prisoners.

—Escort the monks back to their rooms. They'll stay there until we can stablish communication with the directory and know exactly what to do with them.

—You know what they'll say already. Especially major general Linières.

"Kill them all" was the answer that went unspoken.

—It doesn't matter. We'll wait for a direct order from above. Now go.

Munsch laughed with clear annoyance, but complied. Obermann was friends with many higher ranking officers, after all. If he didn't follow the man's instructions, it was plausible that the general would find a way to get him demoted.

—Okay.

As Munsch shook his head, the abbot took the three other men to the Bishop's room, located on the second floor of the monks' dormitory.

Once the door opened, the invaders found their objective standing up next to the window, looking outside with a tranquil gaze. He had a white cloth pressed to his lips, and blood staining his mouth. The elderly man probably was coughing his lungs out right before they arrived, judging by how sick he looked.

—Good morning, your excellency —Obermann removed his bicorn from his head out of respect—. We've come here to arrest you.

—I know —Simon turned around to face them—. Good morning.

Once Laupin walked inside the room, and his clear eyes met the Bishop's, a sudden sob was pushed out of his chest.

—I was p-praying that it wasn't you... That I had misheard the name, or that it was mere coincidence, b-but... oh Lord...

—It's nice to see you again, Camille.

—You know each other? —Obermann asked, right as the Laupin lost all of his inner strength and collapsed over his knees, crying his eyes out. The general then looked at the abbot with murderous eyes and ordered him to leave, immediately—. Close the door on your way out.

—Yes, monsieur —the man did as he was told, and in mere seconds, the remainder of the group was left alone.

—Rise, my child —the Bishop said, before approaching the commander and weakly pulling him up, back to his feet—. You may kneel before God, but never before me.

—Camille, care to explain what is going on? —Obermann spoke up again, between angry and concerned.

—We cannot kill him.

—What?

—He baptized me. We c-cannot kill him, Étienne. I can't let you kill him.

Obermann straightened his back. Looked at the Bishop, then at Laupin again, perplexed and moved.

—We have orders to follow.

—I won't follow them. Not in this case.

—You'll be jailed.

—I don't care.

—You'll be guillotined.

—I. don't. Care.

—Camille... —the Bishop interrupted him—. I've known you since you were a baby... I also gave you your first communion, do you remember that? And I blessed you and your family when you left this town, and wandered off towards a bigger city in search of a better life... And my son, I am glad to see you made something of yourself. I am glad to see that you've become a soldier. Even if you are defending a different cause to mine. This isn't an easy profession to follow. The pain, the loss, the sacrifices you must make... they aren't easy things to deal with. But you're a strong man, you always have been. And you make me so proud...

—Monsieur...

—Do not waste all that you've fought for, all that you've conquered, on an old man like me —Simon insisted—. I am old. Far too old. And if you don't kill me now, this sickness will later. So follow your orders, as they were given to you. But let me die in a humane way and give me a proper burial, will you?

—I refuse to cause you any harm —Laupin insisted, as he shook his head—. I just... can't. I can't do it. I can't agree with this...

—For fuck's sake... —Obermann sighed.

—Camille —the Bishop spoke over the general, with a tranquility and level headedness that surprised all of his opponents—. I've done my peace with death. And I'd like you to do what it must be done, rather than anyone else. I don't want to die under the blade of a guillotine, or tortured by some anticlerical politician, or shot by a handful of unknown soldiers... I've been asking God to let me die with dignity since I saw your troops arrive here. And He has listened to my prayers... You are my pathway to heaven.

The commander grabbed the hands of the elder man and kissed them.

—I can't, monsieur. What you ask of me...

—Let's not fool ourselves, my son. If you don't kill me, your superiors will kill us both. And you're too young to perish by my side. I have lived, and you are yet living.

—But...

—I have a vial of Black Wolfsbane in the bag of my horse —Obermann remembered suddenly, interrupting Laupin. He was clearly distressed about the conundrum—. If an easy and painless death if what the Bishop asks for, then I'm sure it can be arranged. I'll be back in five.

The general then spun around and left the room, leaving Francis behind without a second glance.

—Should I go outside? Give you two some space to talk? —the captain asked, and pointed towards the door. 

—Please —Laupin asked, wiping the tears off his face.

—And thank you —Simon said next, as they were both left alone.

The last thing Francis saw before he stepped into the empty hallway was the commander sitting down on the edge of the bed, along with the Bishop. They were surely going to have a heart to heart, before it was time to end the older man's life. And it wasn't going to be an easy conversation at all.

Rain began to pour while Obermann was away. The green square of grass in the center of the cloister was soon shining with the downpour of water, sparkling like a thousand tiny diamonds. Francis was so absorbed and fascinated by the gorgeous view, that the explosive sound of a gunshot didn't register in his ears right away. Scared and in a panic, he spun around with his musket in his hands and ran to the bedroom he'd just come out of, less than ten minutes ago.

Once he opened the door, his anxiety vanished, but he couldn't exactly say he felt relieved. Laupin was fine, alive, breathing and in one piece. But the Bishop was no more. He'd been shot in the center of his head, and by the size of the entering hole, the pistol that killed him had been pressed right against his skull as it fired.

His body was laying on a bloody bed, and he still had a soft smile on his face. His death had been quick and smooth, right as he'd wished. Obermann's poison couldn't have been this fast and merciful.

—It's d-done —Laupin sobbed, then threw his gun on the floor and walked away from the room, to breath outside.

—I'll... clean everything —Francis promised as he left.

Once Obermann came back, the dead man's corpse had already been covered by sheets, and wiped clean.

—What happened here?

—Captain Laupin... He did what he had to do.

—Goddamn... —the general looked at the corpse—. And you let him?!...

—I didn't know he would do this, monsieur. I was told to wait outside, so I did.

—Fuck...  —Obermann frowned, growled, then kicked a chair in a fit of frustration—. He shouldn't have... I could've...

—Monsieur, the job is done —Francis stopped his meltdown before it began—. That's what matters. Now we kill Hotchner, and it's over. We can move on to Montpierre.

—Who gives a shit about Montpierre? This will take a huge toll on Camille! This man... This Bishop, clearly meant a lot to him! As does this town! He shouldn't even be here!... He shouldn't!...

—It's part of the job monsieur. Sacrifices must be made. Death must be faced.

—No... This is too much —Obermann insisted, and went outside to cool down as well.

Francis remained quiet, surrounded by grief, but currently unable to feel the same pain everyone around him felt. The death of the Suzannets and Laura's had left him emotionally stunted, it seemed. He couldn't empathize with the same ease as before. Right now, for example, his chest felt empty. Vacant of all feeling. As if there was a hole where his tender heart used to be.

He knew Laupin was suffering, and he wanted to console the wounded man, but he couldn't say that his ache was extended towards the Bishop as well. He couldn't' grieve him, let alone pity him.

That man was a royalist. In one way or another, he had helped the Duke of Alvern, and all of the noblemen that preceded him. Francis couldn't, not even to save his life, feel sad about the passing of the elder. In some ways, he even felt glad that the Bishop was gone —which was a disturbing thought in itself—.

Shaking his head, he removed his blood stained white gloves from over his calloused fingers, and snuck them in the pockets of his coat. Right as he did that, Laupin returned, along with the abbot.

—Bury him with all the honors he deserves —the commander gave the order to the monk, then looked at his young captain—. Thank you... for c-caring for him. And cleaning this up.

Francis bowed shortly, but otherwise kept quiet. Even if he felt relieved and content by the death of yet another royalist leader, he wasn't a complete jackass yet; he could see that Laupin was hurting and that what he needed right now was compassion, not disdain or anger.

The Bishop was buried in the crypts of the abbey, the following day. General Hotchner was allowed to witness the entire event, before his own execution happened. By order of the directory, and by suggestion of Obermann, the local army was spared, decommissioned, and their uniforms and weaponry, repurposed to serve the revolutionary army. The few citizens that opposed the new ruling of their enemies were shot dead, or hanged. Neither Obermann or Francis saw Laupin for the five following days. Neither could chastise the commander for being gone either.