35 Days (Violent Delights Book 10)

Day 5: The siege August 22, 1415

According to Jehan Lescot

I walk through the English camp. It's nearly dusk. And the camp is merry as the cannon fire ceases. So I walk through, casually. I whistle a welsh ballad. And I pause to pet a couple of camp dogs and offer them bits of dried meat form my pockets. Fine day for a walk with my boat, down a stagnant river. The ground is damp beneath my feet. I stroll cheerfully through the twilight. There's some men bathing by the stream. I casually sweep up a set of english colors and within a moment have it on.
"Where are you headed?" A man calls, amiably.
"Burying the dead," I gesture to the bundles on my row boat.
"Oh aye, more sick?"
"Aye," I nod, "Say were you one of the York company?"
"Leeds actually, you a Welshman?"
"Aye, I came over with the bowmen, but now I'm requisitioned to do this," I say, shrugging helplessly, "Solider's work eh?"
"Aye, well, hope they get you off that job soon. Nasty work," the man says.
"Honest work anyway, better than at home."
"Aye I hear you!"
I wave and walk on. A couple more camp dogs sniff me for treats and I pet them amiably.
"You taking passengers gov'ner?" A soldier asks, he's working on a ditch.
"Yes, but it's a one way ride, no women about either," I say.
A group of soldiers laugh.
"No women in camp as it is. Did you hear? King's banned all harlots from entering. After a warning, he'll have their left arm broken," one of the men says.
"Keeping you honest, wouldn't want to be the fair lady," I say.
"Well it isn't a fair lady is the point."
We all laugh. I wave and walk on, whistling my merry tune. Fine night for a walk. Harfluer looms up ahead of me.
"You're going the wrong direction mate," a welsh miner calls.
"King's orders," I say, pointing to the boat.
"Welshman? Where do you hail from?" The man asks, in welsh.
"Other side of the city, mate, Conwy's home," I call.
"Aye I'm from the south. They've got our Welshmen hauling bodies now?"
"We're not just good for bows and mines," I say, shrugging.
"Come have a drink when you're finished, eh?"
"I'll find you!" I say, pointing and make general gestures of friendliness.
And I progress on. Nearly to the opening. The river runs into the city, beneath a section of the wall. A man can just swim underneath it to enter, but the wall is so wide most cannot hold their breath long enough, and the journey is too perilous for any weapons or heavy armor. Making it useless for the army to enter.
But not for me.
I shed my cloak quickly, moving to my boat. No guards here. Why would there be? It's just the river which seems to be rather weak. It's stagnant almost. The bastard's flooded it, the dam he was building is doing a good job. And makes mine harder. A current could guide me beneath the water.
I move quickly to the boat. Three large bundles. That's all. I rapidly move them from the boat. They are weighted. I can drag them one at a time. Once I sink them to the bottom of the river.
I do that, tipping them over. Each one is weighted enough to sink, and has rope so I can tow it. In theory. I've not done this before but it's intended to work according to theory if it doesn't I'll just die. I'll drown to be specific.
I then sink the boat. No evidence of my path here. No that wouldn't do any good would it? I remove a couple of plugs, filling the boat with water.
I'm tempted to do the dive with cargo. Otherwise I have three more trips. But I know better. I haven't even made it through yet and the path beneath the wall is going to be filled in with soot. I don't even know if I fit.
I breath steadily, carefully discarding my cloak and the stolen colors into the water. Let them look like they washed down stream. It's warm enough I strip off my shirt as well. My boots I tie to my waist. I need to be able to kick.
I take a long breath, slow and steady, filling my lungs.
Then I plunge into the stinking river water.
It's full of silt and dark. I open my eyes then realize I can't bother. It's night and there's zero visibility as it's dark outside. I swim forward, completely blind. There's rough rocks beneath me, and if I'm right in two strokes, yes, I feel the brick of the garrison wall above me. And sure enough below me isn't a finger with clearance. My belly scrapes the rocks and slowly I push my way forward. Through total dark.
Silt presses heavily on my face and the river water stinks so badly I can smell it even though my nose is full of water. The wall above me scraps my back. I'm sandwiched in between rock and silt, with slow moving water in my face. Keep going forward even though I can't see forward. And I know I can't move. If I turn even the slightest bit, I will be lost, the wall is easily half a mile wide if I'm correct, and so I can all too easily get turned around. Lost in between the two realms and drowning as I run out of air.
Forward. Forward. Still wall above me. Keep steady. One wrong turn and I'm quite literally dead in the water. Keep working my way forward. Rocks scrape my chest painfully and I have to wriggle to get myself through it. I'm being crushed. Still brick above my head. Damn where does this end?
Kick. Kick.
Relax. The more you panic the more air you use. Push yourself forward. There's little air left in my lungs now. Each moment as my head scraps the brick I know that I'm no closer to safety.
And I've come so far. Now. Two minutes. I can't turn back. If I did it would be certain death. the swim back is too far even if I could turn around.
I keep kicking. Faster I need air. I need air. My brain is close to panicking. But don't let it. Keep going forward. Just go forward. This is a grand tale is it not? Trapped in the dark. My eyes sealed closed. Silt blasting me. And I'm again nearly crushed between the two.
The top scrapes my head. I'm dangerously low on air and working forward is getting harder and harder. And harder. I'm nearly stuck. My foot—tangled in something. I know not what. But if I turn around I could lose my bearing. I tug and feel blood well on my foot. It doesn't matter. Just move forward. Forward. I kick and my foot hits the top painfully. No more air is in my lungs and my head is getting light.
And I move my head up dazed and my stomach churning. And it doesn't strike brick.
I'm out.
I'm out.
The rests of me can't get free fast enough. I kick in the direction I pray is up and my head clears the surface. I gasp gratefully, the starlight above me. And I gasp and laugh. That was good. God that was good. All right breath then I'll do it again.
I don't have much time to rejoice though. Hands are bearing me out of the water and a knife is at my throat.
"Vive le Roi Charles, Vive le dauphin!" I cry, as I continue panting, hands up as best I can. I switch easily back to my mother tongue, "I am French, I am French. I come from the Dauphin."
"That's what an english spy would say," one man says, folding his arms. He has rich auburn curls and wide green eyes. A handsome face, if set, with a rough beard and arrogant tip to his head. He like the others is in full armor. But unlike the others he's wearing a gold shackle on his left ankle, which is simply odd. The others look to him, however.
"I'm French, as anything," I say.
"Bring him inside," the man says, to the men holding me. I'm half naked and dripping wet, of course, and quite bloodied and filthy from my swim. "We'll get him food and water. See that no others come out."
"Ah, not much fear of that. It took five minutes in pitch dark to get through there," I say, laughing a bit, "No man will make it."
"Then how did you?" He asks.
"I'm Jehan Lescot, at your service," I say, grinning, "And you are?"
"Raoul de Gaoucourt."