The sound of groaning men and the screams of the dying rang in Isabel's ears as she ran through the rows of the injured. "Cecily, I need more clean water!" She called to the little black-haired girl who nodded and dashed off towards the river.
"Isabel, we need you over here," a woman named Margaret called and Isabel glanced down at the man whose injuries she had been cleaning. He was going to bleed out if she didn't stay by his side, but the other man needed an amputation and another had a crushed arm.
Cursing silently, she quickly pulled off her hood and wrapped it hastily around his injuries before running to Margaret's side. "Hold him down, his leg needs to go," Margaret commanded and Isabel nodded, pressing her hands against the man's shoulders as the older woman began to saw away.
The man thankfully passed out from the pain and Isabel took a moment to wipe the sweat off of her brow. Isabel, along with all the other healers had been running around nonstop for the past three hours as wave after wave of injured men came crashing in. They had already run out of clean linen and herbs were running out as was space to put the bodies.
There was the sound of a scream and the healers all looked up. "Cecily!" Jeanne shrieked and another woman held back the girl from charging towards her sister. The little black-haired girl stubbled into the medical area and Isabel gripped Margaret's arm. "We need to get out of here," Isabel hissed as the sobbing girl ran into Jeanne's arms.
"We shouldn't leave the wounded!" Protested Margaret and Isabel glared at her. "This isn't time to be heroic, there won't be time to heal these men if you're dead! Now move, take the others, and split up. You'll be harder to catch," commanded Isabel before she let go of the woman's arm and ran off.
By the time she reached the line of tents, she could hear the sound of horse hooves. She ducked behind a cart as four riders thundered past her. Damn it, what are they doing here? There's a battle going on and they're running in the wrong direction! thought Isabel furiously as she ran between the rows of tents.
She watched them and realized that they were heading towards the abbey. Her heart plummeted at the thought of them finding Arthur. Her son was too young to even talk and too weak to defend himself. Her feet were moving before Isabel's brain had thought up a plan. Isabel knew the layout of the camp better than them, so she was in front of them in no time.
Isabel grabbed a pot and threw it at the first rider. It hit his leg and he whipped around and found Isabel standing there, a furious look on her face as she gasped for breath. He looked at the other three who were with him and said something to them before one of them drew their swords. Oh how nice, all this attention for little ol' me? Isabel grumbled internally before doing the smart thing and running away.
Weaving through the English camp, Isabe had the disadvantage of not having four legs and a sword. Now that she had their attention, what was she supposed to do again? She skidded to a stop before diving into a tent and looking around. There was a walking stick sitting in the corner and Isabel grabbed it before she stuck her head out the front of the tent and swung it.
The stick collided with the horse's throat and she winced as it staggered backward. Isabel picked up an iron pan and threw it at the second man, hitting him square in the face and he promptly collapsed. She yelped and dropped to the ground when one of the men swung his sword at her head. A tremble of fear ripped through her and she scrambled away from him as quickly as she could before she threw the walking stick at him. It hit him in the chest and bounced off harmlessly, but it was enough to stun him for a moment.
She ran over to the fallen man's body and pried the sword from his hand. It was lighter than she expected, perhaps only five to seven pounds. Isabel turned and stabbed the horse's hind leg. The animal reared in pain and his rider came tumbling off, his leg getting tangled in the stirrup. Reaching up, Isabel hit the horse's side and it dashed off, dragging its rider through the dirt.
Both remaining men dismounted, although one of them was limping slightly and Isabel identified him as the one who she had hit with the pot. She backed away from them, eyeing them as they approached. The one with the limp attacked first and she ran to the side, but his sword cut across her face. Pain flared under her left eye and she pressed the back of her hand against the cut.
Isabel rushed between the two of her assailants and the second one swung his sword, but she dropped down and he ended up hitting the one who was limping. He made a noise of surprise before cursing and throwing his sword aside and tackling Isabel.
They tumbled to the ground and his hands latched around her throat. She gasped and struggled as he pressed the heel of his palm against her throat. Her eyes widened as she reached around desperately. Her hand closed around the dagger that was at his side and Isabel pulled it out before driving it through the bottom of his chin. He gurgled and blood dripped down the blade and onto her hands and face.
He fell limp on top of her and Isabel whimpered, shaking in horror, the dagger still stuck in her attacker's head. She couldn't move her hand, she couldn't move her body. All Isabel wanted to do was get out, but the man was too heavy and the pressure was suffocating her.
A sob escaped her lips and she shut her eyes tightly. "I want to go home," she whispered.
__________
"Your Majesty!" A man yelled over the fray and Henry turned around. "What is it?" He questioned, his voice snappish and harsh. Could this man not see that they were in the middle of a battle? The French had been more than prepared for their attack, their walls had been fortified and it had caught the English off guard.
"There is a rumor going around that some of the French circled around and are attacking the back of the army and the camp," the man hollered before he was swept away by the clashing sides. Henry cursed and called out, "Pull back!" His column was locked in a fierce fight with the French, but they managed it, and Thomas's division took their place. If the rumor was true, he couldn't allow his army to be caught in a pincer maneuver.
Henry took the lead back to the camp, pushing his horse to go faster until he saw the lines of injured men and the neat rows of tents. His horse was still slowing down as he practically jumped off of his horse. "Was there an attack?" He questioned the healers who looked like they were in shock or disoriented. "Only a few men," a woman said, looking up at Henry. "But nothing more."
"Was anyone hurt?" He questioned and the woman nodded. "We are looking the injured over, but so far none, but it doesn't change the fact that the defenseless were attacked." Henry nodded before turning back to his men. "Surround the camp and prepare for any kind of other retaliation against us." They nodded and quickly dispersed.
"Where is Isabel?" asked Henry as he turned back to the woman. "She ran to the camp. S-She told us to run and split up," a little girl sobbed into the older woman's arms and Henry felt a surge of panic, but he forced it down as he mounted his horse and rode in the direction the girl had pointed.
It was, in truth, quite easy to find Isabel. All Henry had to do was follow the horse tracks and overturned items. When he found the man with a frying pan lying next to his bleeding head, he held back a smile that faded as quickly as it came when he found a head of blonde hair covered in blood and being crushed by a dead body.
"Isabel!" He dismounted and ran to her side, shoving off the dead man before he leaned down and cupped her face in his hands. "Thank God," he breathed as he studied her for any injuries before his eyes landed on the blood on her face.
"You're hurt," said Henry, and Isabel tilted her head to the side and that's when he saw her tears. She was shaking from the sobs she was holding as she dropped the dagger she held in her hand. "Sh, you're alright, you're alright. I'm here," he whispered, gathering up in his arms.
"Your Majesty, news from Caen," the man said and Henry looked up from Isabel. "What is it?" He questioned and the man bowed. "Your brother, the Duke of Clarence has scaled the walls, but Sir Sprenghose was burned alive."
"Thank you for the news. I will be there soon," said Henry before he turned his attention back to Isabel who lay trembling on the ground. Although her eyes were open, he could tell that she couldn't see him. She was trapped in her own world of fear and guilt. He knew because he felt the same way at night, but Henry also knew that she couldn't wallow in it for forever.
Henry picked her up in his arms and held her close until her shivering stopped before he made his way to his tent. He placed down Isabel on the bed before pulling a bowl of water out from under it and laying it at her feet.
"Your Majesty, we caught one of the attackers. He was being dragged around by his horse," one of his guards said and Isabel looked up, but Henry placed a hand on her shoulder and stood. "Stay here," he whispered before he moved away from her.
He drew his sword as he stormed out of his tent. Henry placed the edge against the Frenchman's neck and growled, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't cut your head off right here? Why did you attack the injured?"
The man spat at his feet before looking up at him. "Idiot. You fell right into our trap. With you gone from the front lines, your men will lose heart and-" the man stopped when Henry let out a snort. "You really are a fool," Henry said before he knelt down and looked the man in the eye. "Your precious little city has already fallen. All we need to do is scare you lord into surrender and the castle will be ours. I was thinking," mused Henry. "Perhaps in retaliation of your attack on the woman I love and on my injured men, I'll have every man, woman, and priest in your city slaughtered."
The man in front of him paled before trying to lung forward, but Henry's guards caught him by the shoulders and pulled him back.
"You wouldn't dare," the man snarled and Henry tilted his head to the side.
"I 'wouldn't dare'? You have no idea what I would dare to do."
"God will punish you. He will strike you down-" started the prisoner, but Henry tilted his head to the side.
"If God was mad at me, why am I not dead? I am the figurehead and leader of this conquest. If God didn't approve, I'd be dead, and yet here I am," reasoned Henry before he stood and waved a hand, "Take him away, make him beg for mercy before you kill him."
The man was dragged away and Henry turned towards John who was the commander of the men who had captured the Frenchman.
"Can you get Arthur?"
"Of course, Brother," John said and Henry nodded before walking back into his tent. He was met by the sight of Isabel sitting stiff on his bed, the bowl of clear water sitting next to her feet as she stared blankly ahead while she twisted a piece of fabric in her hands.
"Isabel," Henry said, kneeling in front of her. She blinked before looking down at him.
"Henry," she murmured as he gently removed the fabric from her hands and dipped a corner of it into the water. "I killed someone," she whispered as he cleaned her cut.
Isabel winced and pulled away slightly. "You did the right thing. It was self-defense." Henry tried to defend her actions, but she shook her head. "I didn't have the right. He had his whole life ahead of him and I was the one who cut it short. How do you live with it?" Isabel asked, looking at Henry as if she was seeing him for the first time.
"I see their faces every night. They're waiting for me, in Hell or in Heaven, I just pray that they forgive me what I've done," admitted Henry. "They're in my dreams and nightmares. But I also remind myself that I get to live another day with you and my family. I know that I'm not alone."
"Where's Arthur? I-I need to see him, Henry. I need our son," she said, gripping his hand and Henry placed his hand on hers. "John has already gone to get him," Henry said. "Arthur will be alright."
"What about your brothers? Are they alright as well?" "Thomas got over the city walls, but...Sir Edward Sprenghose was burned alive in the process," Henry said and Isabel pursed her lips. "He was a good man."
Isabel didn't move or talk as he finished cleaning her cut and wiping the rest of the dried blood off of her hands and face. When he touched her fingers, she reached out and gripped his hand and he looked up at her. "Henry, I don't feel safe."
"It was my fault for leaving you all unattended and unguarded. I will fix that, you will have a guard of three every time I go out to battle. That way I'll know you're safe," Henry said and she tilted her head to the side.
"Who will they be?" Isabel asked and he hesitated before running his thumb over her skin.
"Ralph Neville, Richard Wydeville, and Thomas Montagu," listed off Henry before he stood and kissed Isabel on the forehead. "I will do everything in my power to keep from harm's way. Come outside, it would be best for you if you had friends around you right now."
Henry helped her up and led her out of the tent as if she was a lost puppy. Isabel remained glued to his side and he didn't try to push her away. Sometimes, people needed others to comfort them and be by their sides instead of giving them space. He wrapped an arm around her waist as she closed her eyes, her head leaning against his shoulder.
There was the clatter of horse hooves and Isabel stiffened, but relaxed when she saw that it was John with her son. The Lancaster dismounted and placed his nephew on the ground before he pulled off his helmet, relishing in the cool autumn breeze.
"Mamwa!" Arthur toddled the short distance from John to Isabel and hugged her. "My darling," she whispered as she picked him up and pressed a kiss against his forehead. "Oh, I'm so glad you are safe." He held up a hand and mumbled something incoherent as he touched her cut. "Yes, I was hurt, but it wasn't bad. As long as you are safe, I will live," Isabel said with a smile as she took his hand in hers.
Arthur looked past his mother and held out an arm for his father and Isabel passed him to Henry who held his son like he was a piece of glass that could shatter at any moment. "Baba?" Questioned Arthur as he reached up and patted Henry's nose. "Yes, Arthur. I am here."
"What will you do with the city?" Isabel asked Henry as she smiled down at Arthur as he looked around the camp. "The men of the city will be executed," Henry said as he watched Isabel come back to life around their son. "Not the priests and women, Henry. Don't do anything rash," she said and Henry sighed. "I can't change an order just for you, Isabel. The city must be punished for standing against me."
"Please, Henry," whispered Isabel and he kissed her temple. "I will see what I can do, but I can't make any promises."
"Thank you."