35 Days (Violent Delights Book 10)

Day 31: The siege September 17, 1415

According to Raoul de Gaoucourt

"We're parlaying with King Henry."
"What?" I drop my shovel. I've been helping with the countermines since dawn. I don't sleep anymore. The banging of the cannons. There isn't time, I have more people I can save. I have to keep fighting.
"I wrote to his brother, the Duke of Clarence, because we all agreed that there's something amiss and extremely dangerous going on, on Henry's side of camp. The Duke said any parlay must be with the king. So we're doing this," Jean says.
"No," I say, shaking my head, "No."
"This is my town. And we need to buy more time. These walls will fall in what, two days?" Jean asks.
"They might hold three," I say, glancing at the walls. They are crumbling. With him firing night and day, we can't patch them as we once did. No they're ready to fall. "But yes."
"If we can parlay to discuss surrender, then perhaps we can buy time for reinforcements," Jean says.
"We don't surrender," I say.
"Raoul. You know it's the best move," Jean says, gently, reaching out to take my arm then thinking better of it.
"Move. Move you—You say it like it's a game. It's not a game! A little boy had his head blown open last night! That is not a game, that is not honorable warfare, it's butchery. 'For that day will not come, unless the rebellion comes first, and the man of lawlessness is revealed, the son of destruction, who opposes and exalts himself against every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, proclaiming himself to be God'. We fight the Antichrist, this is no game of chess where there's rules and pieces and a clear beginning. This is a war against evil and it has no end," I sob, hearing my voice shudder.
"Raoul. If we do not surrender. Tell me what he'll do? You know him. You're a more experienced soldier than I. So you tell me, what your Beast will do."
"The anti-christ is different from the beast I've updated my opinion," I say, quietly,
"Raoul. What will happen if we do not surrender?"
"He'll shoot the walls down. And he'll burn Harfluer to the ground. And he'll let the soldiers rape the women and they'll kill the men," I say, quietly.
"And what will happen if we surrender?"
"We can negotiate the surrender and perhaps get the non-combatents at least evacuated," I breath, tears dripping down face.
"So you know what we must do."
"Reinforcements—,"
"Reinforcements are not coming Raoul," he snarls, "We know this."
"The best possible alternative is holding out as long as we can," I say, "Then surrender. Please. Don't let them die in vain. Not Gosse. Not Aimee. Not any of the others who've fallen. Please. Please this has to mean something. Harfluer should not simply die slowly. We can't do that. We can't set him loose on the rest of France. We have to destroy him. Something has to slay him."
"It won't be us," Jean says, there are tears in his eyes too, "Go get dressed. We meet him at noon."

According to Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester

I'm the youngest of us brothers. And since our sisters were usually separated from us a bit due to schooling, I'm sort of the baby. Our father always put me to the side because he thought our mother liked me best. That wasn't true. I was just the littlest boy so she'd rescue me from my horrible brothers. Henry was her favorite, because nobody understood Henry least of all Henry. So she was always sensitive to him. And anyway since I was littlest she eventually impressed on my horrible brothers that they had to look out for me. So they do. Henry especially he's always tried to be the parent of all five of us, he's always looked out for me. He used to have Bishop Courtenay check in on me at Oxford, or he'd ensure I had swords and proper armor, that manner of thing.
But now he needs me. And this is probably going to be hazardous to my health but there it is.
Henry's in his tent, getting ready for the parlay with the french. The cannons are still blasting. And Henry's putting on one of his better robes, and capes, things, he has such nice clothes I don't even try to follow it I just know they're fine.
"Have you ah, taken supper yet?" I ask, it's nearly noon.
"No, if you wish you can dine with the Earl of March he's quite bored if you're seeking company I have correspondence to get through," Henry says, very nicely. But it's that terribly dangerous tone of his, it's perfectly civil but there's nothing behind it but malice.
"Oh no, I'm well, I just noted you were out yesterday and took nothing for dinner," I say, slowly, he's going to be so mad. But I have to do this. He's not eating.
"Yes, I've been quite busy," Henry says, adjusting his rings. He's wearing that square ruby of Courtenay's. This is bad. This is as bad as we thought. I wish Thomas were here.
"You were at the cannons most of the night as well—have you been sleeping?" I ask.
"Of course I have," Henry says, while his man Green stands behind him shaking his head no, mouthing 'he has not'. "What is this line of questioning?"
"Brotherly concern, you look after me enough," I say, smoothly.
"Don't concern yourself, I'm well," Henry says, slapping my shoulder, actually smiling. Oh my god we're all going to die. "If you need an occupation go check on the men, get the latest sick rolls, and then make sure the gunners are standing by to fire. They'll pause after this round, then resume when the French convoy refuses our generous terms."
"Very good," I bow. Fuck. Fuck. We're all going to die.
"How bad?" I run directly into Cornwall who was waiting outside. Porter is predictably loitering behind him. One of them dies and this army will have no sense of self preservation.
"He changed his expression, and he has not eaten or slept, and worse he's acting perfectly fine."
"Oh hell," Cornwall says, "Well, you did your best."
"Not enough," I sigh. He needs to sleep tonight at least. I'm not too concerned about eating but the Bishop was ill, Henry doesn't need to contract whatever killed him. "I'm going to stay about for the parlay. I want to see what happens."
"And who survives?" Cornwall grunts.
"He wouldn't kill them," Porter says.
I look directly at him.
"Oh you think he would?"
"I think at this point he'd do anything that pleased him," I say.

According to Raoul de Gaoucourt

Even my best colors are faded and stained from battle. And I'm sure I look little better. Everyone of us is bruised and dirty, we've been working all night. And I had the situation with the fire and falling so I'm probably the worst among us. Henry's granted us safe passage. And paused his beloved cannons. I say paused because I truly believe he will use all the gunpowder he has before this siege is out.
And so we walk through the English camp.
I am sure the mouth of hell is a more cheerful place. The ditches are lined with the dead and dying. It stinks of death. And the men stare at us with obvious loathing. As though we are somehow responsible for their plight.
The heat broke yesterday, and a cool wind blows. Winter is sweeping in. And snow will follow in a matter of weeks. The cold air stings my burnt skin, but I ignore it. The image of Gosse, lying there in the mud, his head half blown open, flashes in my mind. And I have nothing but hate in my heart. This isn't warfare. this isn't noble battle. This is butchery. The English are dying faster than if we were the ones killing them. Disease is doing its work.
And their king sits in a silk tent. Waiting. He has innumerable men and guards. They wear colors but I know not who they are. Likely a brother or two, cousins in among them, various members of royalty. None of us are even half royal. We're nothing. Mice that have been plaguing him.
Jean and I are at the front, so we see him first.
King Henry.
In all his glory, a long purple cape edged in white fur, a crown on his head. A man stands to his side holding a scepter and another crown on a pillow.
Henry is taller than I supposed, for a moment I think he's standing on something but no, he simply dwarfs the other men, layered in fine purple silks and his colors, brazenly wearing the fluer-de-lis over his shining armor. He has dark eyes that flash in the light, and a face surprisingly rugged with battle wounds, half of it mostly obscured with scars that melt down his features. His features could have been handsome, but he wears a cold and hungry look. Like a wolf standing between you and a lost sheep. No mercy, no touch of care. This is a man that loves nothing but himself. He's also young enough to be my son, or there about, with youth still clinging to his hard features and nothing but arrogance brimming from his eyes. They have nothing behind them, like he's simply a void, a man half made up without any love or mercy.
Jean glances at me a little bit, as though to confirm what I am seeing.
We both kneel, though it pains me morally and physically. I feel Henry's gaze rest on me for a moment.
"Jean d-Estouteville, commander of the garrison, and Raoul de Gaoucourt, captain of the garrison," one of the men introduces us. I did not tell him a title he decided to make that up to explain why I'm here.
"Are you prepared to surrender and accept our terms?" Henry asks, incredibly nicely. His voice is cold though, terribly so, and not as deep as I'd have supposed. "Or are you going to continue occupying our town of Harfluer?"
Jean stiffens next to me, "We accept nothing."
I attempt to glance over at him.
"France is our birthright. By opposing us and unlawfully holding our town you are criminals," Henry says, his voice dripping with malice, while it remaining incredibly light, "Tell us who you think you are that you defy god's will?"
"I am a soldier of god, and by his grace we will hold Harfluer till our dying breaths," I say.
"We surrender nothing, you may do your worst," Jean says, standing up.
"I shall," Henry says, and he actually smiles.