High Treason
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In 1415, after Henry V of England wins the Battle of Agincourt, the English reconquer Normady.
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The king only held so much power. It was in his men where the strength lay.
One man can only fight so many battles on his own. It was the soldiers, the men in his command, that do all the work for him; yet, the work was only credited to him. Thousands may have died in a single battle, and that was only a number. When the king would die, only a single man, the whole country would mourn his death and their loss.
How unfair it is.
Normandy was a fair place, a stretch of sandy beach. The land, however, was in disarray; Frenchmen being taken prisoner by the English. Bodies and blood... while the real battle had taken place somewhere else, reconquering Normandy was no simple feat.
Lines of prisoners were marched out on foot, presumably being taken onto English ships. He himself is on horseback – in his days before he served as a knight, before he had made his fair share of wealth in court, he tended to the horses his family had.
With other men, he was closely guarding King Henry, a tall, gaunt man with a lean face and a prominent nose, who was speaking to an adviser nearby about what to do with the prisoners.
"In the name of the Catholic church and of the land of England, I, King Henry the fifth, sentence all French prisoners, noblemen and surfs alike, to death."
The knight was used to such speak – Henry was blunt, harsh, and domineering, using his absolute control to remind the people of his high power. He had a hardened aura to him, a man who could not be easily swayed by the lavish and petty things that came to the rich.
"But surely, your Majesty, they can be used for ransom. The French are rich, m'lord, and they will pay for their men back," the adviser reminded him.
"I've enough wealth of my own," the King said gruffly. "Execute them. Put the court in to a disarray, make the French scramble."
"With no disrespect, we have the greatest man of southern France, John of Bourbon, your Majesty. With what will we achieve with their deaths? More war, perhaps?"
"War is a common ground," said the King, sounding grave. "War is only human nature. It will happen, and we will fight."
The adviser was silent.
"And what," the King continued, sitting upon his grand horse, "would you say of this, Sir William, keeping Frenchmen alive for the sake of wealth I am plentiful in?"
The knight was taken aback, being addressed by the King directly – it had happened once, when he received knighthood, and the harshness of the King's words always struck him off-balance.
"I am to say that the King may do whichever he pleases, given it benefits the great land of England," said the knight.
"Wise words," said the King, "but with shallow depth and meaning. Perhaps you'd be willing to wade through those shallow waters and give the order to the Duke of York." It was not a question, but an indisputable command, and Sir William ducked his head to the King obligingly.
It took only a minute to get near the shore. He had not noticed the woman next to him – being rather short, and he tall and on a horse, she completely missed his line of view.
"You 'ave to 'elp me, eef you 'ave any sort of compassion," the woman pleaded. The knight turned, not hearing her approach.
She was a beautiful Frenchwoman – she looked to be of a higher class, and rightfully so – a tailored green dress, encrusted with glittering green gems, was fit to her body as if it was her very own skin. Her face was pale, cheekbones high, with an elegance that only came with growing up wealthy.
Her hair, as golden-blonde as the sun that was shining down upon them both, was a beauty in itself, straight and thick and healthy.
The knight was unsure of what to do in this situation. She was a prisoner, no doubt – the hemline of her expertly sewn dress was dragging in the wet, soggy sand, and while she was still very beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful woman he had even seen in his life, he knew there was more to her, else she wouldn't be begging an enemy to help.
"What type of help may I be offering? Perhaps it would be best if you left, lady, find your family and board the ship before anything worse happens to you," said Sir William. Before the love and beauty of a woman, he had made an oath to the Kingdom of England, and faithful he tried to stay.
"Keel us all, eet is useless trying to lie," the woman said, her English stuttered and accented. "I am Fleur, seester of Lady Gabrielle, daughter to the Constable, you 'ave to 'elp me find my father and seester. I weel die, surely, but I weel die with them."
It was not her lover she was looking for (surely a woman like her must be married, she looked to be about eighteen or nineteen) but her family. The knight sighed inwardly; oh, did he ever know the troubles of family. Growing up as a poor merchant's son, he eventually, through years, managed to climb his way up, which was no difficult feat. Back in the time when he was still attending the grammar school in the village, he knew how important family was. Flaming red hair, all of them, and freckles. His sister, soon to be sixteen, married in a fortnight from yesterday.
"I know you know, Ser William," the Frenchwoman said. "You know much about zee troubles of family, blessed may zey be."
"How do you know my name?" The woman was impossibly perceptive.
"Your Keeng was speeking to you earlier, Ser," said Fleur.
"The Constable has boarded with the other prisoners," said the knight impulsively.
Fleur widened her eyes before gliding off – while hasty, she was still graceful, running across the beach to where her father would be. He felt a pain inside his chest – they were just people. It was not courageous to kill. It was cowardly, and may the Lord help him if he were to ever become that. This was family, like the woman had said.
The Duke of York rode up to him.
"And what does the King command, Sir William?"
"He commands that all be left unharmed."
A/N: A few ending notes. I would just like to say that parts of this are not historically accurate whatsoever. The English were not actually in Normandy - although they reconquered Normandy, no killings or citizens taken prisoner actually happened there. All others I have tried to follow the details as closely as possible. For the Quidditch League Competition, Puddlemere United, Chaser One, family, indisputable, and hardened. Word count: 1,102.