216 Days (Violent Delights Book 12)

Chapter 6: The siege according to the Bastard of Vaurus, October 12, 1421

It has been a week, nearly. Henry has his trenches well set up. And they're building huts now. They are ready to stay the winter. Henry's playing the long game. Well. So am I.
I stroll through the market, as I'm given to do at this time of the morning anyway. Now we are under siege. But we are going about life as normal, as possible anyway. We have to. So I walk my usual paths. Stopping to greet citizens as I would normally. We'll break if we give in to fear.
Also, now and then I catch a dirty little English spy. Henry's of the habit of throwing them in the Marne or something.
"I'M NOT A SPY I'M DEFECTING—-DON'T, I—,"
They all say that. I pretend I don't speak English. I cut his throat. Another one for the tree. It's almost like Henry likes seeing them up there.
I would wait to see if he notices, but I have an errand in town. Aimee has a room here. It's where she stays when she's not minding Denis or whatever she does up with us in the garrison.
"I heard screaming, I thought you'd be off at the tree," she says, opening the door.
"I was. I've got a favor to ask, may I come in?" I ask, leaning in the doorway.
"Yeah, come on," she frowns, stepping back to let me in.
"All right, you aren't allowed to be cross with the question—well, all right you are I don't mind much if you're cross with me I really don't care but if you let it get back to Denis and the others they'll get on me. And that'll be boring. So," I shrug, "Ready to not be cross?"
"Yes," she frowns, going back to the table. Baking bread looks like. I duck under herbs hanging from a beam, to follow her, "Go on."
"Do you have a way of contracting a prostitute?" I ask.
"I know of women willing to work. Yes—but if this some last request sort of thing I do know that some of the women in the village wouldn't be opposed to you," she frowns.
"Not for me!" I say, disgusted, "No, for Henry."
"What?" She asks, confused.
"What I said? Do you or do you not know of a working woman? I have no reason to think she'd be harmed. I'd pay her well," I say, "Here in Meaux, we're still getting people in and out on the south shore. And I can get messages out as needed."
"You're—trying to hire a prostitute. For the King of England?" Aimee asks, slowly.
"Yes, it's going to tell me something I need to know, can you help me or not?" I ask.
"She could be killed," she frowns.
"I don't think so. No. He turns the prostitutes out of his camps. But that's about his men. I want to know if he keeps them for himself. I must know if war is his only vice or if he does take women. Or wine. And this is my best spy. He thinks himself too much the white knight to kill a woman. And again, I'll pay her well," I say.
Aimee sighs.
"I can ask other people. I just—thought you'd start with asking you," I say.
"Yeah. I'll find you someone," she says, nodding, "Outside. If you can get a message out."
"I can. Yeah," I say, tapping the wall.
"Was that it?" She knows I'd leave if I were done.
"Why would you think it was for me?" I ask.
"Okay, logically, it would be more likely you were hiring a girl, for yourself, than the King of England."
"Is it though?"
"A little. All right not a lot no you're right. You're you."
"What made you think I'd not have to pay someone?" I ask, still tracing my finger down lines in the wood of the wall. "I thought everyone in Meaux thinks I'm the devil's bastard and not Vaurus'."
"Oh, they do, but some women don't mind danger."
"Ah."
"Also I felt sorry for you for a minute and it seemed like a really lonely sad request."
"You don't feel sorry for me anymore?" I cock my head.
"No. It got weird again. All right. Yeah. Do you want to meet her beforehand? Or afterward?" She asks.
"After. Not before. I mean if she's from Meaux I've met her, no I don't need to talk to her beforehand. I'll pay her, pay you whatever she requires," I say.
"All right. I'll see," she nods.
"Okay, let me know. Okay," I tap the wall, "You really thought it was for me?"
"Okay, you asking for a prostitute, would imply it was for you and NOT the king of England. You do see how that would be a logical course of thought, right?" Aimee asks, putting down what she's doing.
"Yes. No, you know me though, have you ever known me to do something like that?" I ask, still tracing the grains of wood on the wall.
"No. Of course not. However, you're a man."
"What's that mean?"
"Same thing it means when you send a prostitute to the King of England."
"Oh. I don't think he'll lie with her. I highly doubt it anyway. I think it will upset him. And that is my current goal," I say, tapping the wall.
"Why would it upset him?"
"He thinks he's better than that. He has our princess for that."
"You don't think he's better than that, though?"
"No, but I think he thinks he is. And that's what matters. Anyway, thanks," I say, tapping the wall again before turning to go.
"Be careful."
"I'm antagonizing the king of England. On purpose. So too late," I duck out of the little house. It's a grey day. Still snowing a bit. I can hear the clang of shovels, echo through the valley. They're working on their ditches.
"Governor," a couple of street urchins dart out in front of me, skittering away when they realize who nearly tripped on them.
"It's all right," I say, holding up my hands. I don't have a cross word for them today. They're filthy, clearly been running about all morning. They have wooden swords in their hands. "What are you playing at?"
"Stabbing the English, governor," the older of the two bows.
"Ah. Good practice for you," I say, smiling quickly, "Stay out from under foot all right? And don't talk to any of the Englishmen. Even if you think they're defectors."
"Yes, governor," they nod, and then run off. My dog runs after them to bark for a moment, then comes back to my side.
Denis finds me halfway through the market. I usually change up my route but he also usually has a habit of finding me all right.
"I've been to see Aimee," he says, by way of greeting.
"I'm quite happy for you," I say, patting his arm.
"She said you were offended about something."
"Can we leave this conversation and never pick it back up again, in my very short life? Thank you," I say, walking on.
"So, about you being offended. And the time you told me you had been to a brothel in Paris—?"
"Was a lie. Yes, I usually lie, fairly often. Not always to you, but I've been known," I say, not bothering to look back at him.
"Why?" He asks, tiredly.
"You asked what I was doing that night. I wanted to know what your reaction would be when I said it," I say. I hadn't really thought about that in ages. In fact, I'd genuinely forgotten I told him that.
"Why?" Denis stops.
I stop as well, "I did put an end to this conversation."
"Why lie about that? Aimee said you blushed now."
"I never did."
"Well, why would you lie to me? I only asked where you'd been —where were you?"
"I was walking. Alone. I hadn't seen Paris before you know I like to walk alone in the dark," I sigh, not walking still.
"Yes, I do, so why lie?" Denis asks, catching up to me.
I sigh. I was sixteen. I'd only just begun working for him permanently. Well not that long a few years. He'd been nice to bring me to Paris. It was kind of him to do so. So I assumed the back of his hand was coming. I couldn't fathom that it would not. So I wanted it over with so I could go on with hating him like I hate my father. There's no joy in hoping. And so I hadn't planned it. I'd been out all night which suits me. But he was staying with his wife and already worn down and he'd told me not to get into trouble. I walked all night and fought a few drunks. And he saw me and asked after my bruises. So, I told him I'd been thrown out of a brothel.
Except it's ten odd years on from that and I can't let him know he passed my test. A test I didn't need to put him to as it happened.
"I was trying to start a rumor. The others laughed that I had no interest in the serving girls as they did. So I said that as others were listening. I thought I told you that later, didn't I?"
"No. Cousin. You did not," Denis probably knows damn well I know I didn't.
"Odd. Well, it doesn't matter now does it? Doesn't matter at all. I suppose I was surprised Aimee mistook my meaning," I lie, smoothly. Of course I was hurt. As if I'd buy a woman, because I can't have one for free if I like. Well. I suppose I likely cannot, but that's by design of who I am. I never tried to fashion myself to be the man a woman would want.
"I suppose not. Perhaps you did tell me that later," Denis concedes. I glance over. No, he doesn't mean it. He knows I didn't.
"Did you write to your wife?" I ask, because I probably ought to. We don't talk about her, but the woman does exist.
"Yes. She knows we're under siege she said she'd pray for me," he says.
"Good. I wrote to her as well."
"You had better be lying."
"I am not, if ransom demands come to her then I want her to answer them properly. I did say this, that I'm arranging for when you and the others are captured. We want proper funds for ransoms. I gave her some figures and told her to write to me with what she has. We'll get it together," I say, shrugging, "We've got a few months yet."
"He's over there building bridges and siege machines."
"I know. I watch him," I say, as we stroll through the market, "Still. Few months yet. Henry wants to spend Christmas here as much I do."
"Why do you think that?"
"Why else would he be here? It's my life philosophy, cousin. Everyone is where they truly want to be, in the end. Tell me, if you wished would you not be a hundred miles away, in your wife's bed? Not here minding me, and waiting for Aimee's arms?" I ask, "And if I wished would I not have a wife and two fat children by now, and a house on some land of my father's? Yes. And yes. We are where we wish to be. Don't pretend otherwise. So Henry prefers this field in France to his marriage bed and our lovely French rose he's stolen."
"I suppose you're right," he says, nodding a little.
"I think I am. We all do as we please in the end. Even besieged as we are. If I did not want to be here I'd have long since swum the Marne. If Henry did not want to be here, or did not want to play games with me, then he wouldn't stand on the roof of the Abby. Night after night. Looking at me in my tree through his spy glass."
"Oh, do stop sitting among the corpses. Aimee said you were doing that I said you had more sense. You'll catch a disease," Denis groans.
"I'm not touching them. Very much."
"Why would you need to say 'very much' in that manner?"
"What manner? I forget the track of the conversation—Jesus Christ," I sigh, putting a hand to my face as I look down the road.
"What?" Denis asks, stopping.
"Another fucking spy, defector. Hell, is Henry just chucking them in the Marne for entertainment? I've got twenty seven already," I groan, getting out my knife.
"Given you have twenty seven I would say yes he is chucking them in the Marne for entertainment—are you entirely sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure! For one I do not forget a face, for another that one is still dripping from the Marne. God, does he have nothing better to do?"
"You obviously also have nothing better to do as you're finding them immediately."
"Shut up."