According to Raoul de Gaoucourt
"They're dying in droves. They are so starved of food they are eating their horses. They can't even dig ditches or graves fast enough. 'There will be loud wailing throughout the land—worse than there has ever been or ever will be again', they are surely cursed," I say, tipping my head up to stare at the sky. As ever gunfire cracks. We sleep in the day when we can and do repairs at night. I've just been to check our own brave gunners. We're running low on ammunition. We're running low on everything.
"You should possibly rest," Jean says, we're sitting in a group, sheltered from rubble. Gosse fell asleep leaning on Eudes, who is just fiddling with my armor to sooth himself at this point. It's too hot for me to wear it. And I don't think I need it.
"Or something," Jehan says.
"I don't need rest. I need to protect this garrison. I need to—it is my sacred mission, my quest, and I will not fail," I say, tapping the shackle on my left ankle, "I swore an oath to uphold truth, duty, and honor, loyalty, and honesty. I will die before I break it."
My friends are silent.
"What?" I ask, frowning. Why are they confused?
Jean, very quietly, "That's why you wear that?"
"I told you it was something weird," Roland whispers.
"Why did you think I wore it?" I ask.
"I didn't know. I asked them, don't look at me," Jehan says.
"We didn't know! How were we to know—what it's some chivalry order-thing?" Piers asks.
"Yes! The Order of the Prisoner's Shackle, it's a sacred order of chivalry," I say, hurt.
"See? I told you it would make sense eventually," Roland says.
"They make you wear that?" Jehan asks.
"He wants to wear it," Eudes says.
"I want to wear it," I say.
"No, nobody knew that. Now we do. And I'm going to tell other people, and possibly settle a few bets," Jean says.
"Why was I not invited to these?" Jehan asks.
"What, you're a gambling man?" Piers asks.
"Ten English soliders owe me money that Harfluer has held out this long. So yes," Jehan says.
"You shouldn't do that. Gambling is a sin," I say, rubbing my face. I'm so tired and my mouth feels raw.
"Mate—ah, Raoul, when did you last eat?" Jean asks, slowly.
"You have to starve a flux," I say.
"He looks—I'm going with—ah, when did you last drink?" Jehan asks.
"Anything? When did something last pass. Your lips?" Piers asks.
"It doesn't matter," I say, stretching a bit. I'm sore all over.
"It does though," Jean says.
"You're going to die if you don't eat or drink, flux or no," Jehan says.
"God sustains me with manna. From heaven," I say, nicely.
They are silent.
"What? Why are you all looking at each other like that? Do you know something I don't?" I ask.
"I've got his legs," Piers says.
"I've got his arms," Jehan sighs.
"What—what are you doing —? No—-I'm perfectly well," they pounce on me with surprising force and accuracy.
"This is for your own good, and because we love you," Jean says, grabbing my hair as he pours wine down my throat. And I immediately lose consciousness.
आप पढ़ रहे हैं
35 Days (Violent Delights Book 10)
ऐतिहासिक साहित्य35 days. A siege nearly ten years in the making. 300 French defenders attempt to hold off nearly 10,000 English assailants from the vital port town of Harfluer. As casualties from disease mount on both sides, the French can only pray for relief. Rel...
