35 Days (Violent Delights Book 10)

Day 1: The siege August 18, 1415

According to Raoul de Gaucourt

Ships bob on the horizon. Nearly invisible in the fog. Then great white sails billow out against the stormy grey sky. Dozens of them. Laden with men, guns, and horses, bellies full of supplies. Pure evil, well funded, well prepared, with no purpose but destruction. He's ready.
I imagine this is how Hector felt watching the Acheneans land, ready to lay siege to his city. A siege of glory. And pride. Not justice. God doesn't want this. God did not make man in his own image to war against one another. But he did begin to mould us to defend the innocent from the armies of hell.
The ships cut through the wine dark sea. There is nothing but war in their look. A nearly ragtag bunch, great ships to be sure. But half are merchant ships, slummed from the Thames when the navy proved insufficient, or the royal ship builders too slow. A stolen army for a war of thievery. The king's ship though is elegant, clearly freshly painted, with a swan at the help, and the phrase 'one and no more' painted along the stern. A reference I assume to the Iliad. So he thinks himself a hero.
They'll have longbows. Dreaded, Welsh longbows. And bombs. And guns, I've counted at least ten. The largest is in pieces, the largest to grace these shores. And men. So many men. At least five thousand by my count, and five more no doubt on the ships still shrouded in fog.  They sail through the mist, a quiet channel. And a hot summer day. Hell follows with them.
They say that death rides on a pale horse. But Henry's charger is black. But he's no antichrist. Even if they all wear the mark of the beast, his colors, with the stolen fluer de lis. Perhaps he is the beast. Revelations says that man will flock to him. Believe his testimony over our one true God. And so they do. Hell certainly does follow him.
"For the first beast shall rise out of the sea," I say, quietly, staring through my looking glass.
Henry stands at the helm of his ship. Steady and sure as he does appear to simply rise up from the fog and sea foam. Dark cropped hair, and a cruel and merciless look about his dark eyes. Face rife with war scars yet entirely unbreakable. He's a handsome man, if he had any soul past those black eyes. No the fires of hell would hold no torment for this man, only shelter. With the deaths of thousands in his sight he does not hold back. He longs for more. He longs for destruction.
"And lo the second beast shall come out of the earth, and force all those that crawl the earth to worship the beast. The false prophet," I say, tipping my spyglass towards a man that stands behind Henry. A priest, nay, bishop, wearing the cloth of god yet unmistakably a prophet of the beast. He looks entirely inhuman, a face too soft and kind to be trustworthy, glittering blue eyes and a beauty in his face like that of a fallen angel. To sweet for heaven, and wholly content to serve his master of hell.
"Upon his head blasphemy, a mortal wound that healed itself," I say, studying Henry's face and the scars upon it once more. They say it was an arrow. If so and he were mortal he should have died.
"And yea shall they be thrown into the lake of fire. And for those victorious over the beast death shall have no hold upon them," I say, hand closing over the cross about my neck. Tied next to it, my beloved's favor. My Jeanne. I did tell her I would return home to wed her. I thought I was doing battle against a man. But if Christ has called me to defend my land against the coming of the Beast. I shall. It is my duty.
"We're very glad you made it."
"What?" I lower my spyglass quickly. Jean de Estouteville, the garrison commander, is standing near me on the rampart. He's younger than I, with faded brown hair and a ready smile. He greeted me briefly when we arrived two hours ago. He's young and afraid, he doesn't know combat as I do. I don't know his age but he's young enough to be my son. Not that god has yet granted me a son of my own.
"How long have you been standing there?" I ask.
"A minute. Were you quoting scripture?" He asks, frowning.
"A bit," I say, "It comforts me."
"Revelation comforts you?"
"Yes," I say, stiffly, looking back out.
"I know what the others said—ah. We're glad you're here. I don't have a hundred men," he says.
"A hundred men. Two thousand odd non-combatants, we don't stand a chance," I say, softly.
"What are we going to do?" He asks, softy.
"Fight them. It is what we do. We are warriors of god, and France," I say.
He smiles, as though he'd believed for a moment I'd come only to surrender them. Other men would.
"We fight. And we wait. I can make it, perhaps two weeks. Depending on the strength of his guns, by then more reinforcements should have come," I say, "The Dauphin knows of our plight. I was sent from Rouen. All that awaits is more reinforcements from Rouen, to attack Henry's camp, and then we attack from the walls."
"Did they say—when they'd send reinforcements?" He asks.
"No, as soon as the army's mustered, I came with who I could," I say.
"Good," Jean says, pushing his hair from his face, "If—if we have to surrender—,"
"We won't," I say. God would not have sent me here merely to give in.
"But if we did. Would we be killed?" Jean asks.
"No, the code of chivalry requires that if we surrender ourselves to Henry in good faith, then he's honor bound to let us have our lives, if only in captivity."
"What if he's not an honorable man?"
"Then God will smite him for it," I say, hand on his shoulder, "All right? We'll do well. I have been defending France since I was sixteen years old. This English king is young, and inexperienced in war."
"They say he fought in Wales."
"He has not fought in France. And so he can never know our spirit," I say, looking back at the ships. They're nearing ashore. "We should get down. I should check on my men. I just wanted to count them. Were you coming up here—with some errand?"
"Yes, your men sent me. Said you'd ordered them to rest but they didn't think you'd take rest yourself. I volunteered to come and find you," Jean says.
"Hm, they know me. I'm well," I say, smiling a bit.
"You marched all night, my lord," he says.
"Raoul. I'm not your lord. I'm not even nobility," I say.
"Raoul," he corrects.
"And I am quite well," I say.
"You still marched all night, Raoul," Jean says.
"My faith gives me strength," I say.
He nods a little, looking out, "That's a lot of ships."
"Yes, it is, are you afraid?" I ask.
"A little," Jean says, glancing over at me, "In the face of that how are you calm?"
"Those that walk the path of the righteous shall know no fear. Goodness and mercy shall follow us, all the days of our lives, for we follow the path of the lord," I say, kindly.
"That certainly looks like the shadow of death," he says, taking a breath.
"Yet we fear no evil," I say, calmly, "For when the beast rises from the ocean. He shall be given authority to wage war on God's holy people. Yet if ye shall die. Ye die by the sword."
"You think King Henry is the beast?" Jean asks.
"It is not for me to interpret scripture," I say, "But if they are servants of the anti-Christ, and are the beast, the Bible tells us their end shall correspond to their deeds."
"You've read scripture?" Jean asks.
"Yes, I can read Latin," I say. Most don't I'm well aware, not unless you're a man of the church, or nobility. "My mother, wished for me to go into the church. But I knew that the lord was calling upon me to defend my land. She accepted my calling, and I became a knight."
"For me, it was this or blacksmith," Jean says.
"A noble profession, you too longed for a path of chivalry?" I ask.
"No, I was no good at being a blacksmith," he says. We both smile.
"Well, god wanted you here it would seem. I'm glad to have you," I say, clapping him on the back. "Come, let's join the others. The English are landing. They'll know I'm here. And they'll send a message soon. If Henry's following the rules of combat he'll give us the chance to surrender before he lays siege."
"And we won't take it," Jean confirms.
"Not on your life."