The Trials of Gideon Book 2: Steal the Dark

Chapter 10: The Siege of Meaux (Siri, play "Master of Puppets" by Metallica)

Dancer always tries to ruin my fun and says that I can't name any more chapters after songs that were playing through my head while the chapter took place because my music taste is 'unhinged' but we as a people have evidence he listens to Mitski and FallOutBoy when he's sad, so I get Metallica and Taylor Swift, I will keep adding this paragraph in every draft my editor sends me I don't care. Command+V motherfuckers it's a sticky note on my desktop I can do this all day.
Anyway.
Yes, I've been kidnapped, again.
I fall to cobblestone street. Around me I am only conscious of the clanging of alarm bells, the boom of cannons, and the roar of a thousand fires. Which is a lot to be conscious of I think. I grip Oisin's hand in mine, I don't know how it got there. But I'm glad I didn't lose him this time.
I pull myself up, painfully, looking around. Sure enough, we're in the middle of a burning city, oh with about fifteen Templars that's different. They're all in their matching little robes and everything.
"None of the amulets led us here," one of them, the leader I guess, Templar1, says, pulling himself up, only to duck as cannons boom overhead.
"That's because we're not in another time—we're in an illusion," Oisin says, jumping a little at the cannon fire.
"March 1422, the siege of Meaux, specifically the night the market fell a failed raid was a Hail Mary on the part of the defenders of Meaux, they were trying to launch an offensive but of course it didn't work, so the Bastard gave the word to burn the Market, and all non-combatents were to flee while the english army is distracted, all combatents were to retreat to the garrison, while I'm guessing the Bastard and whatever sorcerers held them off as long as they could," I say, very quickly, also ducking. I'm still holding Oisin's hand, just relieved he stayed with me this time.
"Then why is there cannon fire if they're raiding a Market?" One of the Templar's asks, like he doesn't believe me.
"Because a boom addicted gremlin is in charge of the English army I have much more information on that situation, or would you like to get out of here alive?" I growl.
"How do you expect we're going to do that?" Templar1 asks.
"Well we've got no magic, since it's his illusion," Oisin says, raising an empty hand as he tries to draw magic.
"No, he's draining it to resurrect himself and his cousin, and I'm guessing by his parting words those of us who find a way to survive the fall of the Market, get to live, the rest he'll drain till we're dead. The same chance his men got that awful night," I say, looking around. The air is thick with smoke.
"This way, we need to get back from the line of battle," Oisin says, jerking his head.
A cannon explosion echoes his sentiment. We all turn and run down the cobble stone street, into the smoke. We're fleeing towards the garrison, but so are the French defenders, quickly cut down by the dreaded english longbow. It's like shooting fish in a barrel. A blood bath. And all that's saving the French is the guise of smoke, which in itself is rapidly killing them. Every building is on fire and it's burning hot. The flames reach out to lick our clothes, and I'm chocked by the smoke. we run into a pack of fleeing french soldiers, only for a cannonball to rip through them.
"Back—back—, he's got a line of bowmen," I say, dragging Oisin backward. The Templars follow suit, ducking back into a smoke filled alley. Civilians are hiding, crying, praying. I'm about to tell them to follow us then I remember they're only an illusion. This night happened over twenty years ago. The casualties are long dead.
"If his game is that we must make it back to the garrison, then the garrison is that way," Templar1 says.
"Yeah, fair but I'm not cutting through a line of longbowmen I'd sooner set myself on fire," Oisin snarls.
"What if we make it to the Marne and try to swim around?" Another Templar offers.
"Too fast a current, and there are likely lines firing on us," I say.
"Well there has to be some way to win, the men got inside, perhaps another street?" Another Templar offers.
"There's no way to win," I realize, shaking my head.
"What?" Oisin frowns.
"This isn't real—there's no way to win because it's his nightmare he's not thinking of the men who did make it, he's remembering those that died in the streets—tell me how many of you have nightmares with happy endings?" I ask.
"I agree but that doesn't do us a lot of good," Oisin says.
"Yes it does. I'm taking the Bastard's own trick," I say.
"What?"
"When he played chess against King Henry he knew he couldn't win, he didn't likely even know how to play, so instead of playing a losing game he cheated, he played his own game using slight of hand to steal Henry's pieces. So that's what I'm doing, I'm cheating—evade capture as long as you can, I'm going to try something," I say.
"Let me come," Oisin says, hand on my arm.
"You need to take care of them," I say.
"We don't need you!" Templar1 says, annoyed, staring at me with obvious disgust. I'm not racist so it hasn't been relevant till now but they're all white and slightly old. I'm brown, twenty eight, look like I'm seventeen, and currently have my fist in my mouth and have been holding my boyfriend's hand.
"Excuse you, who raised the bent on revenge space wizard in the first place? If you didn't need me, you would not be in this situation, please shut up. You are being rescued," I say.
Oisin grins, "Go cheat. I'll keep them alive as long as I can."
"Stay safe," I kiss his cheek this time. He runs a hand through my hair.
And then I turn and run into the smoke.
I've never found a competent map of medieval Meaux. This is the incident that leveled it, leaving us with no proper records. We have the names of a precious few of the brave defenders, not including the Bastard, whose real name was lost to history. That feels oddly tragic doesn't it? But we don't many of the unsung heroes of history. From loyal ladies in waiting who were privy to a lifetime of secrets, to the governesses who watched a future king's first steps or comforted a first heartbreak. To a man like the Bastard, born illegitimate, somehow elevated to Governor of Meaux, only to have the English paint him as the villain in a tale where he was defending his own home. We'll never know how many of these people were truly good or not. Some of these lost names, yes were downright horrible. But if we're lucky we have a few of their actions. We know the Bastard held out to the end and by slowing Henry's march saved incaculable portions of France. But not only him. Everyone in this city.
Hence the game.
I am going to assume someone with the epithet of Bastard didn't have much of a stable home for a long time. This city was his. And he not only had to watch it burn, he had to set the fire himself. Set the fire that destroyed everything he had worked for, that would undoubtedly claim the lives of some of his own people. Praying that the evacuees would make it past the English lines. Knowing that many would not.
I dodge through the streets. It's a bit easier going this way, everyone's fleeing the opposite direction. And the shouts in english tell me I'm getting closer to the advance.
I am trying to find the Bastard, but I find Henry first. In all his wartorn glory. Of course hes' only an illusion, but an accurate one. Only thirty five here, and in my world he shouldn't get much older after this butchery, no he'll die before the summer's out. Now in this world he's cheated that quite nicely.
That thick scar is prominent as ever, his face and dark hair snowy with ash from the fires. He wears a coronet because he's very dramatic, and shouts orders for the fires to be put out. I can't put my finger on why he looks out of place, then I realize it's because Courtenay isn't directly behind him.
Of course he's with the sorcerer line.
I look up.
An entire ring of sorcerers, on the English side of the Marne, hover in the smoke filled night sky. Eyes glowing red with sorcery magic, burning bright against the black night. They are casting spells, furiously, trying to stop the flames from consuming the market.  And at their center, I recognize Courtenay, with his perfect hair, and his recognizable cloak so identical to Henry's, his eyes are red with magic too and he's clearly straining.
And there, at the edge of the river, the Bastard floats in the smoke of his ruined city. Eyes glowing blue with wizard magic. His face lined with pain, blood running from his eyes. I search the night. Where's the other one? Already in side Meaux of course, getting everyone in. One has to live, it doesn't do any good if they both die. And this is a suicide mission. When he runs out of strength, he can turn invisible and try to bolt back to his garrison, if he makes it.
But he hasn't run out of strength yet. He appears as himself, what I presume is his own body, hair a bit curly, the eyes beneath the magic will be green. Right now he's in leather armor, as is befitting a wizard, and blood drains from his eyes, ears, and mouth, as he desperately continues the fight to keep the sorcery line at bay.
I've been in fights like that. Against Courtenay no less. I know what that's like. I have, endless details of just what that feels like, I know, entirely what it is to strain and fight on as your city burns around you. Knowing your own life is cheap. And that every moment you preserve, maybe, just maybe, somebody else can make it out alive. Maybe you can buy enough time. Maybe if you fight hard enough it will be okay someday.
I could describe this battle, forever. But I don't want to. You see, sieges, aren't my thing.
Infantry battles, oh yes, because they're tactical. It's you, and your resources, and the lay of the land, and the weather, and if you're clever enough to use what you have to your advantage. The Black Prince was brilliant at infantry battles, he was a tactical wonder, it was a chess game for him, he likely grew up playing chess with his mother and sisters, his mother was a genius. His father Edward III saw his talent and took him to war and taught him what was like on the ground. The Black Prince fought hand to hand, he knew what it was like for all of his soldiers and he built a reputation on not only preserving them but annihilating the enemy quickly as possible. Then dealing with and ransoming expensive prisoners.
I bring this up, because, that's a game to me. That is physical chess. You've got so many pieces, so many moves left. How do you make it to the endgame? How do you not only take all your opponents pieces, but also capture the king? The enemy leader, you want to take him too. Alive. It's a trick, it's not at all easy. Again, the Black Prince made it look easy, it is not. Edward III is hailed as one of England's greatest generals, he is great but I personally believe his son was better. The Black Prince had better improvisation, more tactical cunning, and most importantly more kindness for his prisoners. He was known for being good to those he captured and he never slaughtered innocents, instead becoming known as the model of chivalry.
So that's infantry warfare.
Then there's siege warfare. Edward III was good at it, because he was stubborn, and knew how to be mean. It wasn't his preferred pastime, he liked the challenge of infantry battles, more than that he loved lying to people, spying, and unfortunately he had something of a taste for blood. He was an adrenaline junkie of most fun kind, so he got bored with sieging. He'd do it, he sieged Calias but he got bored and went other places while his army camped outside. Similarly, the Black Prince will siege now and then, he has been known. As a rule he usually either will negotiate a surrender or just break the siege by sneaking people in he was very good at covert tactics. But neither father nor son was a real fan of it.
Then there's our Henry V. Yeah, it's always back to Henry.
So, Siege warfare is tricky. How it works is this. The defenders, are going about their daily lives in a city/castle, when up rolls the English army and their greatest warrior king to date. Gates are closed, draw bridges go up. And anyone trapped inside, from military, to the staff, to people who lived their women, children, the sick, elderly. They're all inside too. Food probably isn't going in or out. So naturally you're on rations and dying, hope some doctors got trapped inside. And midwives. Because there's families in here, the like. Now, with a city like Meaux, they were aware a siege might happen. But a city like this, with a Market, is not going to be dumped ahead of time. So you're in a stalemate. You can't surrender the garrison without risking the lives of your people as captives or what have you, occupying forces aren't known for being nice. But if you stay and try to fight, how do you fight when you're surrounded and have no food and limited weapons and the English army with all the time and money in the world are camped outside on lawn chairs  with big cannons waiting for you to break?
Then there's siege weapons. Aforementioned boom addicted gremlins will have things like trebuchets, siege towers, and of course, several cannons. If you're Edward I you have the world's largest trebuchet named WarWolf and if you're Henry V, then you have four cannons named the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, and London. Because you're very mentally stable and you name your siege equipment. Kidding, it's metal those are great names.
Anyway, that's a lot of military history short to say, a siege, is nothing like my beloved infantry battles. Infantry battles are chess. Everyone participating, wants to be here, or at the very least to some extent signed up for this. Like, getting paid, didn't desert, whatever, you know an infantry battle is going to happen this is an agreed upon event, usually with a parlay beforehand to attempt to prevent bloodshed. I will give the Black Prince a bit of shit here, in that he was notoriously, um, sassy in his parlay's, he'd make them take forever just so he could finish setting up his lines then he'd be like 'oh never mind, lol, no deal, I'm so random, see you at the battlefield' six hours and several lies later. I'm not kidding at one point he spent hours on negotiation making them come up with terms, then backed out saying he couldn't agree to it without his father's permission, despite having a letter in his possession signed by his father saying he had full permission to make deals. He's an icon. Anyway.
Sieges? Well, sieges, you're negotiating surrender and usually, every garrison commander loses his head. Unless he's royalty or something. And everyone in the garrison has to leave, so now they're homeless. Again we're talking women, children, the elderly, any regular non combatant, has now lost his home, and possibly been killed or robbed or raped by the incoming soldiers who aren't known for behaving well in these situations. And if you don't negotiate a surrender, you're just praying for a miracle, reinforcements from somewhere, and hoping that someone might come to save you or the army might get called away. In Meaux's case, they know that no one is coming, they are the last defense in northern France, they fall, Henry marches on. So they're simply holding out as long as they can.
To make a simpler analogy, infantry warfare is like playing hide and go seek. You all agreed to do this, even if it isn't your favorite game, and if you're clever enough, you might just win, pick your hiding place well you at least have a chance of winning the game. 
Siege warfare is like hiding desperately under your bed, when your father is coming with a belt, to smack you with, because you knocked his phone off the counter and it broke. And you know there's almost no chance he won't find you and take the belt to your skin. But he's drunk, so you're hoping that maybe possibly he'll trip and fall, or someone will come to the door, or some other miracle will occur before your inevitable torture.
That's siege warfare. It's bullying at its finest, the victim has nowhere to run, and all it requires is the attacker have lots of time, and ammo, and patience, and the desire to to torment an entire garrison full of people.
So naturally our Henry V absolutely loves sieging things. It's his favorite hobby. Has been since he was a teenager quelling the Welsh revolts. He got a taste for it and like any addict never looked back. Infantry warfare didn't go well for him first big battle an arrow goes through his entire head. But siege warfare? He not only gets to set things on fire but he also gets to torment a large group of people and win a game by simply being meaner and louder than everyone else? Yeah, sign him up.
Not that there are nuances to sieges, there are. But I think we can agree it's a bit less fair of a game with a bit higher civilian casualties. And there are historians who will call the siege of Meaux a masterpiece of Henry's superior tactical brilliance. Which is kind of like saying that boiling water is a masterpiece of chemical engineering. If you turn the heat up, it's probably going to boil. If you surround an entire city, with superior fire power, and outnumber them ten to one, while they have had no new food over half a year, and no chance of back up, and absolutely no way to escape because you have a cannon on every side, then you're probably going to win. Like I could coordinate that. That's how you catch a cat that's scared and hiding under a bed, you put one child on each side of the bed and you go to a side and you gently poke it and the cat comes out and you take the cape that your dramatic child put on the cat, off the poor cat. Sorry, Myrddin's a treasure. I have to throw those anecdotes in there.
Point being. I'm the first to say Henry's a smart guy this used like 10% of his brain.  They have nowhere to go, nothing to look forward to. And in the Bastard's case, they know for a fact they're not getting out of this alive. His illegitimate self, isn't getting ransomed, Denis probably isn't either. Oh no. We're all dying here soon just when is the question. They're dying, they have an expiration date. Henry? This is a normal Tuesday, this man brought about four years of back accounts to audit in his free time while he sits and waits for Meaux to run out of food. He is on vacation. That's completely true, look it up, he packed years back accounts from this one county. And he found mistakes, to charge them for, because you know, he's Henry. But point being. This wasn't exactly a challenge, or it wasn't supposed to be. Sieges aren't supposed to be.
Again Edward I and Henry V enjoyed them, which is almost disturbing, when you consider the above. That sieges means beating an opponent who likely can't win, who is defending their actual home, who usually didn't sign up for this war. Now in Meaux's case there are a couple of defenders, Louis and Guy, who are military they are there for this. But the Bastard is the Governor, and Denis is, just like there he's not even listed anywhere as a knight. They live here. They had like friends and possibly significant others, here, and now they're going to die here.
Because Henry doesn't lose sieges. Harfluer took less than a month. His first siege in France, so exciting, and one of the first uses of explosives in a siege. Twelve cannons weakened the walls of Harfluer while Henry Cannons before Matrimony the Fifth, sat outside and watched. The city was defended by less than for hundred men, Henry's army numbered over ten thousand. Disease crippled his army, taking the lives of many including in my world Courtenay (what was the bishop doing there you ask? Ask Henry not me). The walls were weakened Henry was going to invade, but the French offered surrender, if no reinforcements arrived by a certain time. Henry accepted surprisingly, and captured the commanders, since no reinforcements came, and then he told the people of Harfluer they could swear allegiance to him or die, and he executed a lot of them. Some reports say he didn't kill them all, some he turned out of the city with no home or food and one franc each,  which is like, killing them if you ask me which no one of importance ever has.
And Henry moved on from there. Melun he sieged as a nice little treat for himself after his wedding, on the way home with his bride, he just pulled over and sieged Melun for three months. They mined under the walls and jousted in there, Henry did personally of course. Fun time, they wound up surrendering too. Anyway. The point is. Henry loves sieging things he's good at it, he has the chief talents necessary, be mean enough to like sieging things as a hobby, liking cannons, and have supplies enough to last a siege. If Henry was brilliant anywhere it was as ever with his paperwork, supplying an army to wait out a siege, is more challenging than the actual siege, and if the Lancaster men know anything it's finances to get what they want.
That's a very very long winded way of saying. I know, a lot about siege warfare. And I don't like it. It's not a game to me, it's not clever, it's not a showdown. It's one person destined to lose, and one person destined to win. Especially. here. The main way to defend a siege, is to have a good fortress to begin with, sure you can dump boiling oil on the attackers, beat them back, blow smoke into their mines so they can't breath, shoot arrows at them, yeah none of that works if you've run out of food.
The Bastard knows all this, he likely wasn't fully classically trained in warfare, but he knows a losing fight. At this point, he's fighting only for the chance for a few more of his men to make it out. And he knows they won't. When he finally gives up and flees back to the garrison, he'll have to run past the bodies of his friends and his people. The people of his city. The ones too old to run who stayed behind to throw rocks at the english soldiers. The soldiers cut down by the longbows.
And yet he fights on. Blood draining down his face. All we'll know in six hundred is this. That he kept on fighting, the greatest warlord king that England had ever known, and hopefully ever will know.
But it isn't happening anymore. It's over. Meaux has fallen. This is nothing but nightmares.
I have no magic, of course, not his illusion. But I'm betting he does. Because he's in here somewhere. I look around. A chapel is burning, but it's not fully on fire the English have begun putting it out.
I run and jump, clinging to the edge of the tile roof. I should get better at the hero stuff without magic. Make me look so much cooler. Oh well, probalby won't happen. Will probably keep eating entire plates full of scones with my five year old hiding beneath a table. It was a good thought.
I make it up on the roof, nearly slipping agains on the ashen tiles. My hands burn as I steady myself, of course the building has recently been on fire. I run up the roof, slipping only once more before I reach the top. I'm not quite near him. But I'm close enough, I hope. I'm choking on the smoke as it is, and this roof is probably going to give way under my weight.
I stretch out a hand, trying to feel the magic flowing off of him as he keeps himself suspended in the air. I can feel it. Just a bit. It's only a thread. But it is something. I take hold and pull, slowly, dragging it through me. Until I can lift myself into the air.
I'm nothing like steady, and smoke is filling my eyes. I grip his shoulder, hard, and drag myself to him. Magic courses through him thick as the Marne raging below, already filled with bodies. I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him tightly, as we hang suspended in the night air, wind blowing smoke through our faces. I can hear the battle, and the cannon fire too. And I know this scene all too well.
"It's over," I whisper, clinging to him, "You don't have to fight anymore. It's okay."
"It will never be over," he says, his voice rough and gravelly.
"You don't have to be here, it's okay. You did your best," I say, feeling tears gather in my eyes, "It's okay now. You can let go."
"They all died—I didn't save them—," he says, I can hear tears in his voice too, "Denis was supposed to get out I had it planned I—,"
"If you let this go. That doesn't mean you failed them. You fought so hard. It's okay to rest now, it doesn't mean it will go away. And letting go doesn't mean letting them down," I say.
"I have the chance, I have to destroy him," he breaths, "You have to see that."
"I don't know how, much time you have left. If you, and your cousin, only had one more day, is this what you really want it to be?" I ask.
Then I draw the magic through him, funneling into me. And search deep into his mind. This memory is thick, it takes up everything. But there is light as well.
And warm summer days. The fields outside Meaux golden in the fall. And the sound of laughter in the streets, all the houses whole again. The garrison doors open. The way the sunlight flowed in the chapel windows.
"You're my uncle, you're my daddy," a little girl, grinning, cheeks flushed, as she leans over to hug one cousin lying in the grass.
"Very good, you always know, don't you? All you have to do is watch, very, carefully," the bastard smiles, turning a coin in his fingers, and making it disappear.
"It's right there," the little girl taps his other hand.
"Of course it is. Even if you can't see it, doesn't mean it's gone," he said, smiling, grass in his hair as he lay in the sunshine.
Sunshine of a beautiful day. A hundred beautiful days. Summer rainstorms, long hot nights. This city has seen, so many happy days.
Denis sitting with me in that Welsh pub. A smile on his face as he looked down at Kat. With one hand, albeit, doing the same slight of hand and grinning as another little girl laughed.
"What do you want to do for both of you if you have this time? He was happy, why would you spend your last days fighting you don't have to anymore? You already won," I say, choking back my own tears.
"I can't do it," he says, tears streaming down his face now. We're just hanging in the air above the battle.
"Just let go. You don't have to keep fighting anymore. I promise, it's okay now, I've got you," I say.
He lets go, finally, and all the magic flows back into me. And I let the power flow through me. I feel Oisin. I feel the Templars. They're going home. And so are we soon. Soon. I find Denis. Weak. His time is running out he was always the weaker wizard.
"You have to swear you'll never tell anyone," the Bastard said, holding up a hand, bloodied. They're boys, probably not past ten years old, hiding behind an old oak tree. "Your father says I'm not supposed to use magic—please—I'll only get in trouble—I didn't mean—,"
"You —you saved me," Denis says, rubbing his face. He's clearly been crying. He hugs his cousin quickly. "You're my—my best friend."
The Bastard almost frowns, then slowly hugs the smaller boy back, tightly.
"I don't want—want them to send you away," Denis says, sniffing a little.
"I will always protect you. No matter what, I promise," the Bastard says, holding his cousin's hand.
"Will you go to Latin for me tonight?" He asks, "The stable boys won't bother you if I go and see the horses."
"Of course," the Bastard smiles,  "Do you want me to do it?"
"Yeah, I'm no good."
"You'll get better, it's fine, that's what you've got me for," the Bastard says, slowly passing his hand over his face, whispering the spell for the glamor.
Then he does the same to Denis'. And just like that. They've switched places.
"Left hand remember, and—and —and I've got music lessons after —after Latin," Denis says, frowning a little.
"Just swear if they start cussing you, and I told Jean that I'd help him find his football—I think that's it."
"Yeah, thank you—thank you—thank you for saving me," Denis says, brushing his face with one hand. He's still clearly been crying.
"It's what I do. I'm always going to be there," the Bastard says, hugging him again, "Always, I promise."
And he was. He was raised from the dead first and immediately subdued the Templars and rescued his cousin to come be with him. But they are both growing weak. The resurrection was brief. But perhaps I can strength it. Give us a little more time.
I feel the magic flow into them like water, they're so weak. But I'm strong, I let it go on as long as I dare, as I feel their life forces flicker and bend. They're still living on borrowed time, but it's a bit stronger.
And just like that, we're back on that beach in Wales. The Templars will wake up in their, whatever, temple.  I hope they learned a thing or three about raising the dead.
And I fall back, complete exhausted, blood dripping from my mouth.
"Gideon," Oisin comes to me, tugging me up. I cuddle against him immediately. "Oh so you're fine if you're wanting to be hugged then?"
"I'm good that was a work out though," I say, leaning against him.
The Bastard is still lying there, limp. Denis woke up first and went to his cousin, drawing the smaller man into his arms. I reluctantly leave Oisin's arms so we can go and check on them.
Denis cradles the Bastard, who I realize is not unconscious but weeping bitterly. Denis, unaware what we went through, just hugs his cousin protectively.
"Why would you do that?" The Bastard asks, sitting up a little, sand on his face and caught in his hair, green eyes red and bloodshot from crying. But no longer stained blue.
"Because you're worth it. You fought so hard so long. It's okay now. I know a lot of people died but they would not want you ending like this," I say, tears or blood on my cheeks, "That is truly letting him win. He isn't worth that. And you're not doing them any good anymore. They wouldn't want you to do this to yourself."
"You don't understand," the Bastard says, wiping his face with his hand.
"Probably not but I have an idea. Henry sieged Harlech too, I died in that siege, but I have a few great kids back there, and a lot of friends, who would rather have me alive and with them, than spending every day bent on revenge," I say.
"Look, we've determined that you can't actually kill him, which I'd be fine with but we're all wizard's here. Henry is bought with Wizard's blood till that runs out he's not going to be cut down, by the likes of us," Oisin says.
"It's not that I want to keep fighting him. It's that I can't let him know he beat me. He doesn't deserve that," the Bastard says.
"Look, you're on borrowed time. I raised you both, a bit better, but I don't know if that looks like two weeks or two months. Please let me just—take you back to France go to a University, or a pub, and see the countryside one more time, maybe any relatives who might have made it out," I say, shrugging.
"I can't do that," the Bastard says, "That's not who I am."
"He's right, we'll be at rest again, we owe to those who—aren't getting this chance," Denis says.
"Okay, well what do you plan to do? Look we can't help you assassinate Henry as much as we'd like to we can't risk the wrath of England," Oisin say, "Like, I can't endanger Ireland like that, and he can't endanger Wales. The current King Henry is a good man we are not slighting him for revenge for things his father did years ago."
"You expect me to believe—,"
"No skip, he is. I met him and he totally is, a good man, it's disgusting," Denis says.
"You—met him?" The Bastard asks.
"Yeah, he took me there so we'd not want to kill him and I didn't think it'd work but it completely worked the man is—,"
"Like a new born bunny, but nicer and quotes scripture and you just have the overwhelming urge to protect him," Oisin says.
"Yeah, that's it," Denis says.
"Okay then, didn't have money on Henry siring a valid human being but—,"
"Oh we don't really think Henry was involved in that," Denis says.
The Bastard just frowns.
"Yeah it's um—to be clear they're both very interested in paperwork just—yeah um the apple fell far from the tree, rolled a bit, and got made into apple pie to feed the hungry, while the tree killed people in France, Castile, and Portugal," I say.
"You'd better be fucking kidding about France, Castile, and Portugal."
"Sadly, I am not."
"He doesn't stop," the Bastard sighs, putting his head in his hand.
"No, he does not, but his son is in charge now and likes treating people fairly and giving them a good education, and so we are doing what we can with that. Look, we don't have to decide anything right now, just come inside, have a good meal, we'll get you a hook for your hand if you wanted it, and you can have a goodnight's sleep someplace yeah? You two have been on the run for what a couple of weeks? No proper food or anything or each other and before that Meaux was only a month ago or something for you and you were starving waiting to die?" I ask.
"Something like that, yes," the Bastard nods.
"We appreciate your help. But we're not asking for it," Denis says, "We will just disappear. We're rather good at that. As it happens."
"I'm not letting you do that," I say, "I just don't think you're going to accomplish anything, you might not even make it across France in time."
"Raising the dead is unethical we know you're not supposed to even do that it's fine," Denis says, "Really. You've done, more than enough."
"Oh well I'm thinking I didn't raise the dead, I continued the raise, of the dead so like, you know doesn't count," I say.
"I don't think that's how it works," the Bastard says.
"Cool, when questioned, we're going to think that's how it works," Oisin says.
"Anyway, I'm not letting you, walk off into the sunset, will you at least come inside and have dinner and a chat and we'll work on what you want to do in the morning? We're all exhausted," I say.
"It's not going to change," the Bastard says, "And I'm not saying this because of revenge for Meaux—yes I want revenge for my friends who died and what happened to all of us. I'm saying the next Meaux, you yourself admitted he doesn't stop. It's the same reason we held out so long. Something has to stop him."
"That's it," I grin.
"What?" Oisin is suspicious of me having ideas I really don't know why. Well, yes, okay I do.
"I may have a plan," I say, "Tell me, how did you win that chess game against Henry, the night before he killed you?"
"What?" Denis laughs, pushing his cousin a little, "You did not win. He's rotten at chess he won't even remember what the pieces are called he has no attention span."
"I agreed to play him, knowing it would keep him occupied, I thought you could escape," the Bastard says, shrugging, "Took a few hours."
"How?" Denis asks.
"He confused him. He confused Henry enough because he wasn't playing properly or to win," I say.
"I was just stalling him—till the night ran out and since I knew he'd count it as a loss if he didn't beat me," the Bastard says.
"Denis why did you hole up in that castle?" I ask.
"He's Henry, he sees a castle he's got to siege it doesn't he? I knew his army was close all I had to do was pay a few people in town to say the garrison commander had insulted him," Denis scoffs.
Oisin laughs, "You're saying do it again."
"Who cares if he's alive or dead, if he's sieging castles in an endless head game with the two of them? We find a few fortresses that are in disrepair, they hole up and entertain him for months," I say.
"And then he's not hurting any innocent people, just us who are already dead," Denis says.
"It could work," the Bastard says, "But what if we run out of time first?"
"You've stilled slowed him down haven't you? If we map it out right we direct him away from Jerusalem so it takes even longer to go abuse those people, we all know he's more than happy to go on siege and more than happy to butt heads with you, he loves a challenge," I say, gesturing to the Bastard.
"Then at the last minute, you magic yourselves out, to be clear I will help with that if possible," Oisin who loves to mess with Henry almost as much as he loves me. He corrects this to say I'm above fucking with Henry.
"It could work," the Bastard says, looking at his cousin, "What do you think?"
"Do it, for all of them. Everyday he spends on a fairy tale chase against us, isn't one spent harassing innocent people," Denis says, "I'm happy to be the bait. We'll have each other. That's all we have anyway."
"Okay, yes," the Bastard nods, "Where—I don't know where we are."
"We're in Wales, he's in France," I say.
"WHY THE FUCK IS HE STILL IN FRANCE???"
"I don't really—,"
"THERE ARE OTHER COUNTRIES HE KNOWS THAT RIGHT???"
"He got bored of them, went back," I say, shrugging, weakly.
"I know it's upsetting um—wait, Henry thinks that I'm in your custody and you're killing me," Denis says.
"Yeah, don't get yourself in it because of us we don't want him attacking your country—I guess Wales you said—that defeats the purpose," the Bastard says.
"Let me worry about that," I say, "I can play some games of my own."