Un faldestoed i unt fait tut d'or mer, a siet li reis ki dulce France tient. Blanche ad la barbe e tut flurit le chef, Gent ad le cors e le cuntenant fier; S'est k·il demandet, ne l'estoet enseigner.
Upon a faldstool wrought in purest gold sits Charlemagne, the king who rules all France. White is his beard and hoary is his head, his stature noble and his countenance proud – No need to point him out to any man.
Jacques, sire de Heilly, his squire, a wine merchant, and two wagon hands were buried a day's ride from where they were slain, at a tiny village with a little stone church. Perrin gave the parish priest all the money Marcel had found on the corpses as a donation. He asked that the priest say mass for them.
"They were your comrades?" the priest asked.
"No," Perrin answered. "I only knew the knight and his squire, and they were not good men. The world is better without them in it."
"Then why honor them?"
Perrin bit his lip. "They were Christians who had strayed from righteousness. I mourn their failure to be good, and I wish for their salvation regardless."
The priest smiled and blessed him.
The next morning, Perrin went to the priest and said his confession. Then he gathered his companions and rode from the village. Marcel and Daniel had learned from the locals that Paris was only two days aways. Claire, the merchant's daughter they had saved, brought their horses freshly brushed and already saddled.
"What was the point of that?" Claire asked while on the road. She was riding sidesaddle on what had been de Heilly's riding horse.
Perrin looked at her, armored in full harness except his helmet. "The mass?" he questioned.
"The mass, the burial, the donation. Everything." Claire gazed distantly. "Those men were murderers, and I hope they are burning in Hell. They did not deserve kindness or forgiveness. They should have been left to rot." Her eyes settled back on Perrin. "And we could have used their money. Or do you have such great estates that you can afford to feed this many horses and people out of your own pockets?"
"We?" Marcel asked, jutting in. "I don't recall you being a part of this. Once we reach Paris we'll hand you over to whatever family you have left and be done with you."
"I don't have any family left," Claire snapped coldly. "Are you so very chivalrous gentlemen going to leave me to starve in Paris?"
Marcel rolled his eyes. "We are on a mission to the King and to the Pope; we don't have time for useless mouths."
"Then why are you here?" Claire asked. "The horses certainly seem to prefer my hand to yours."
Marcel's face started turning red. "Were I not a man of-"
"Enough," Perrin intervened. He turned to Claire. "My lady, we will, obviously, not be leaving you in Paris. You may accompany us until you find accommodations that suit you better. As for de Heilly and his squire, they may very well burn in Hell, but that is not for us to decide. You may also recall that the mass was for your father and his men as well, and that the donation was for all of their sakes."
At the mention of her father, Claire's expression instantly darkened. But then, a dozen heartbeats later, Claire gave a polite nod and said, "With respect, my lord Perrin, I am the daughter of a wine merchant, not a lady, and I would ask you to call me by my name. I would also ask if you can afford to give such generous donations when you are also responsible for the upkeep of so many companions and horses?"
"Perhaps not," Perrin admitted. "The counting of coins is not a knightly pursuit."
Claire raised an eyebrow. "Then what fortune that I am not the daughter of a knight." She grinned at Marcel. "Perhaps I can have uses after all."
"My lady," Perrin protested, "a woman should not-"
"It's Claire," she interrupted. "And I helped my father manage his ledgers when his eyesight gave out. I can certainly help you manage your purse."
Perrin could see she was quite serious.
Marcel made a face. "As my lord's squire, it is my duty to carry his purse," he asserted.
"Carry it all you like," Claire retorted, "I just need to count it every so often."
Marcel glared.
"Fine," Perrin decided. "You may manage my purse if you like."
"My lord!" Marcel protested, "We've known her for scarcely a few days. What if she steals from you!"
Perrin's head snapped to Marcel. "Do you have so little faith that you believe this woman, whom we have done nothing but good to, would betray our trust so easily?" he demanded. He let the words hang for a moment before he shook his head. "Regardless, I expect that you, ever dutiful as you are, will supervise her whenever she accesses my purse."
Marcel was silent for a moment. Then his eyes went down, and he said, "Of course, my lord."
Claire gave a wonderful smile and made sure Marcel saw it. The squire sighed and looked toward the horizon.
They continued riding for the rest of the day.
Near nightfall, they stopped at one of the villages that were becoming ever more common the closer they came to Paris. The village had an inn, so Perrin decided they would stay the night. A somewhat prosperous man in well cut clothing came out to greet them as they were stabling their horses in the barn.
The man bowed to Perrin. "Hector, at your service my lord. I'd be pleased to have you at my humble inn."
Perrin nodded at him. "Perrin de Godefroy," he said. "My squire, Marcel, and my sister, Claire, will handle the finances. Daniel, come help with my armor."
With that Perrin strode off, leaving Marcel and Claire with the innkeeper. Almost immediately, he could hear the arguing begin.
Half an hour later, Perrin was out of his armor in the common room of the inn with a cup of mediocre wine in his hand and his companions around him.
"Sister?" Claire asked Perrin as she sat in a rickety chair. "Is that our story now?"
Perrin shrugged. "It is unbecoming for an unmarried woman to travel alone with men she barely knows. And it is likewise unbecoming for myself. I thought I would save us the embarrassment."
"Yes, very sound," Claire agreed, "but sister? I'm no noblewoman. Could I not pretend to be your servant?"
"Knights do not tend to bring lone female servants while traveling," Perrin said. He made a face. "Not virtuous knights at least. Sister is as good a story as any. The other alternative would be my wife which has…implications…" Perrin trailed off.
"I see," Claire stated, the slightest of grins on her face.
"So then," Perrin said quickly, "what accommodations do we have?"
Marcel sat up in his chair. "I wanted to rent two rooms," he said immediately, "but-"
"But you have barely any money, and the cost would be outrageous," Claire interrupted. "Christ only knows how you expected to go to Paris with a purse as empty as yours."
Perrin sighed. "I would appreciate if you did not take our Savior's name in vain."
"Parisian inns will be three times as expensive," Claire continued. "You need more money. You have de Heilly's armor, yes?"
"Yes," Perrin confirmed. "I intend to return it to his heir when possible," he added.
Claire shook her head. "Save your chivalry for later. You need to sell the armor. That will get us enough money to reach Constance."
Perrin sniffed. His eyes narrowed. "I would prefer not to," he said quietly.
"Would you prefer to steal food from peasants and occupy families' homes? That's the only other way we'll get to Constance."
Perrin bit his lip. "Fine. But this is a debt I will repay eventually."
Claire rolled her eyes.
"About our accommodations…" Marcel started.
"We have a single room for all four of us," Claire announced. She shrugged. "You have little money, and the alternative is the barn."
"Unacceptable," Perrin said instantly.
"You share rooms with Marcel and Daniel all the time. Why should this be any different?" Claire asked.
"You know exactly why."
"You don't have enough money for modesty."
"My lady-"
"I am not a lady."
"Claire, you cannot expect to share a room with three men you have only known for a matter of days."
Claire tilted her head. "Have I any reason to fear that you or your servants would ever pose a danger to me?"
"Never!" Perrin swore immediately.
Claire sat back in her chair. "Exactly."
"It is indecent," Perrin protested.
"Is the mere presence of a woman indecent?" Claire asked. "Or perhaps you men are incapable of controlling yourselves? I assure you that the common people do not cower at the thought of sharing space with women."
"People will talk," Perrin tried.
"Not if I am your sister. No one will even blink at a brother and sister sharing a room with their servants."
"My lord," Marcel said carefully, "I have tried these arguments already, and she has proven… resistant."
Perrin considered his options. "Very well. If we only have a single room then you may sleep there. Marcel, Daniel, and I will take residence in the barn."
"Don't be ridiculous," Claire scoffed.
"I am very serious."
Claire sighed, "Let it be known that this is absurd. Do as you like, but know you are welcome in our room when you get tired of sleeping with the horses."
Perrin finished off his mediocre wine. Sometime later, the innkeeper produced a pot of good stew and served them each a bowl. They ate in silence. When they finished, Perrin collected Marcel and Daniel and took them to sleep in the barn. Claire went to her room in the inn.
The barn wasn't bad. It was warm and wasn't much different from sleeping by the road. There were a good few horses in it which made the whole structure stink like manure, but Perrin had been around horses his entire life. Marcel and Daniel clearly weren't happy to be spending the night in a barn when an inn was right next door, but Perrin was able to sleep soundly.
He only woke when he heard something moving outside.
It was pitch dark out. Marcel and Daniel were asleep, as were the horses. Logically, Perrin knew that there was probably no danger this close to Paris, but that did nothing to ease him. Perrin had fought too much war to ignore things like that. He tried to make himself sleep but failed. He forced his eyes shut and found he wasn't going to drift off anytime soon.
Finally, he got up quietly and drew his longsword.
Perrin crept to the barn door. He didn't bother with armor; it would take long to arm, and he couldn't put it all on by himself anyway. He considered waking Marcel and Daniel but decided against it. It was probably nothing anyways.
He nudged the door open and walked into the open.
There was a full moon out. It was clear immediately that a heathen patrol had not caught up with them, as Perrin's overactive imagination had dreamed up. The night was empty.
Perrin let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He turned to head back into the barn.
And as he turned, he saw a figure in the courtyard of the inn.
His heart nearly skipped a beat, but Perrin forced himself to be calm. He breathed in deep. As he did, he recognized that the figure was not a heathen outrider here to ambush them. The figure was Claire.
Perrin exhaled. He put his sword against the barn door and walked toward her.
Claire saw him as soon as he entered the courtyard. She was leaning over the wattle fence that marked the inn's boundaries. Perrin could see her give a slight smile in the moonlight.
"I couldn't sleep," she murmured as Perrin came beside her. "You?"
Perrin leaned on the wattle fence and looked out into the darkness. "I thought we were under attack." He shrugged. "Sometimes I discover that I am a great fool."
"At least you're a brave fool," Claire said.
"I hear those go hand and hand," Perrin returned.
Claire shook her head. "There are plenty of cowardly fools. They're all worthless. Brave fools can offer the world something. My father used to…" she trailed off, letting silence fill the air.
Perrin let the silence hang. He'd been at war long enough to know the look on her face.
"My father…" she tried to continue. "He…"
"It's fine," Perrin said.
Claire shook her head. "You know that's why I can't sleep? Everytime I close my eyes I'm back on that road again. Back watching him bleed out in the mud. Back waiting to die with him."
"I'm sorry," Perrin offered, because that was all he could think to say.
"Don't be," Claire muttered. "You did your share killing that bastard de Heilly."
"Is there anything I can offer that will help?" he asked. Perrin found that he desperately wanted her to feel better.
Claire gave a tiny scoff and snapped, "Can you bring back the dead?" Then she met his eye and winced. Claire looked into the dark again. "It's not as bad when I'm with others," she added quietly.
Things suddenly started to make sense for Perrin. "So your insistence on a single room was…?" he asked softly.
Claire choked a quiet laugh. "No, you're still poor and too used to fine living. Without me, you'll starve before you ever reach Constance." She shrugged, a tiny smile returning to her. "But it would've helped."
Perrin smiled, glad that she was smiling. He made an exaggerated bow and extended his arm to the barn. "Well, my lady-"
"Claire."
"Well, Claire, I fear I cannot abandon Marcel and Daniel for a room when it was my insistence that we stay in the barn. But I welcome you to join us. The straw is fresh, and the air only somewhat stinks of manure."
"That doesn't sound all that terrible," Claire declared. She sighed. "It's a shame we wasted money on a room."
Perrin rolled his eyes. "A knight does not count coins like a merchant."
Claire snorted. "And that is why merchants own more of the world every year."
They arrived at Paris after another day of riding. The city was massive. Perrin had only been to Paris twice before, and both times he'd been astounded by the sheer number of people concentrated here. It was the largest city in France and possibly all of Europe, though he'd heard some say that was Rome or perhaps Constantinople.
Regardless, Paris was immense, and Perrin was a stranger to cities as large as it. His rural estate could never compare to the magnitude of even a single Parisian suburb. Fortunately, Claire's father had made regular trips through Paris, and so Claire knew the city well enough. She led the way while Perrin, Marcel, and Daniel followed, awed by the sights like the country rubes they were.
They entered the suburb of Saint Denis a few hours before nightfall. The road was clear, and the locals were mostly inside their homes. At the gate, a dozen men were on duty. Most wore barely any armor, a helmet and gambeson at most, but they covered themselves with the colors of Paris. Their general blundering and the rust Perrin could see on their polearms marked them as militia.
One of them, their captain presumably, stepped out from the gatehouse. He was young, younger than Perrin, and he walked with a sense of outsized importance. Five other militiamen followed him.
"Who goes there?" the captain demanded.
Perrin walked his horse out from behind Claire's. "I am Perrin, sire de Godefroy, and this is my retinue. I am here to speak with the King on orders from Jean le Maingre."
The captain considered him for a few moments and whispered with the other militiamen. He looked back at Perrin then continued whispering.
Perrin tightened his grip on Goliath's reins.
Finally, the captain asked, "Are you a Burgundian or an Armagnac?"
Perrin looked at the captain with disdain. The Burgundians and Armagnacs had plunged France into civil war over a personal dispute between two families, and this upjumped peasant thought he was important enough to involve himself in the factionalism. He glared silently.
"Well which is it?" the captain demanded, not meeting Perrin's eye.
"I am a knight sworn to the King," Perrin spat.
The captain looked to his comrades for support then asked, "A Burgundian knight or an Armagnac knight?"
"I am the sire de Godefroy, and you will let me pass."
One of the militiamen closest to Perrin had a boar spear with big wings jutting out from the spearhead. He leveled it to Perrin's throat and said, "Answer the damned question, snob."
Perrin snatched the spear just above the wings. With the slightest pressure of his knees, he had Goliath suddenly move back, pulling the spear and the man with it. The militiaman stumbled and fell to the ground.
Perrin had the spear in his hand. He tossed it onto the fallen militiaman, even as the others raised their weapons toward him.
"By order of Jean le Maingre and his majesty the King, you will let me pass," Perrin declared.
"Fuck you, aristocrat," the man on the ground cursed.
Perrin was certain he could take all six of the militiamen. Their training was clearly inadequate, their discipline was slovenly, and he was on his warhorse in full harness while they were mostly unarmored like the peasants they were. There were six more in the guardhouse, but with Marcel and Daniel at his side, they wouldn't be a problem.
But no matter how insolent the militiamen were, that didn't mean they deserved to die.
The captain was a tad smarter than the others, and he wasn't quite ready to face a knight on a warhorse. He hesitated and asked again, "Burgundian or Armagnac?"
Perrin sighed and said, "I have served in the company of the Count of Armagnac against his foes in the past."
The militiamen immediately began to lower their weapons.
The captain let out a breath of relief. "You could have just said that. We thought you were a fucking Burgundian."
Perrin held back a retort. "Am I free to continue to the King?" he asked.
The captain nodded, and Perrin immediately spurred Goliath forward, unwilling to endure his company any longer. His companions followed him through the gate without a word.
The royal residence, the Hôtel Saint-Pol, was not actually in the city of Paris itself. It was its own estate on the right bank of the Seine between several suburbs. Claire had never been to it, but Perrin had at least had the residence pointed out to him on his first visit to Paris.
Seeing as it was unlikely the royal court would admit a merchant's daughter, Claire decided she would find them an inn for the night. Perrin sent Marcel with her, as he carried his purse. They took all of the spare horses and baggage with them.
Perrin and Daniel rode to the Hôtel Saint-Pol. In the distance, the bells of Notre-Dame rang the hour.
The royal residence was not a single building as many believed, nor was it a castle or keep. It was three dwellings: one for the King, one for the Queen, and one for their children. The buildings had undergone extensive renovations to include chapels, libraries, banquet halls, and any other luxury required to fit the glory of the King of France.
As Perrin and Daniel approached the buildings, they were confronted by a dozen men in armor. These men were clearly knights, and each bore their personal heraldry over their armor.
"Who approaches the royal residence?" one knight demanded. "State your names and styles." He had his hand resting on the pommel of his longsword. Perrin didn't recognize the arms on his surcoat.
Perrin dismounted from Goliath, and Daniel mimicked him. "I am Perrin, sire de Godefroy. This is my page, Daniel. I have come at the behest of Jean le Maingre to report to the King on the invasion of the heathens at Agincourt and our defeat at Audrehem."
The knight removed his helmet. "Welcome, sire de Godefroy. The rumors are true then? Satan's minions have invaded Christendom?"
"They are," Perrin said. He frowned slightly. "I was one of twelve couriers; have you heard nothing from the others?"
The knight shook his head and said, "We've received no news from Normandy for some time now. There were some refugees who brought rumors, but they were dismissed as mad. We've not heard from the Dauphin at Rouen either."
"Then I need to speak with the King immediately," Perrin stated.
The knight nodded. "I'll see if he is available for an audience. Until then, please come with me."
An hour later, just before sunset, Perrin was standing in the royal residence before the King of France.
Charles the Sixth was a middle aged man with a long nose and wrinkled face. Even at a glance, he looked sickly. His skin was pale. His eyes had heavy bags under them. He constantly fiddled with the dagger at his belt, and he never once looked Perrin in the eye. The King glanced about the room, eyes darting from place to place, never settling.
To the King's left was his wife, Queen Isabeau. She sat gracefully beside her husband, wearing a stern expression and occasionally glancing at the King's erratic movements.
To the King's right was the Count of Armagnac, whom Perrin had served during his campaigns against the Duke of Burgundy. His armies had ravaged the Burgundian lands with a brutality disturbingly similar to the English. The man clearly didn't recognize Perrin.
Perrin knelt before King Charles, waiting for him to bid him to rise. Up close, he could see that the King's clothes seemed oddly stiff, strengthened by iron rods, if the rumors were true, because he believed he was made of glass.
"Your majesty," Perrin began after it became evident that the King was not going to address him.
King Charles shuddered, as if hit by a sudden chill, and said, "Hmmm?" His hands shook.
The Queen took her husband's hand and whispered something into his ear. The King's hands stopped shaking. His gaze seemed to focus on one area of the room.
"Rise, sire de Godefroy," the Queen ordered in her husband's stead. She gave a disarming smile. "Please tell us what Jean le Maingre sent you for."
"Your majesty," Perrin began again. "the servants of Satan have invaded your kingdom. They came as your noble army was preparing to do battle with the English at Agincourt and murdered the envoys of both armies. They attacked with monstrous demons and Satan's own dragons. Their human servants came with countless numbers. We were driven back from Agincourt and forced to retreat."
"You ran?" the King snapped. He rubbed the rings on his fingers incessantly.
"We retreated, your majesty. There was no winning there and so we sought refuge in Calais," Perrin stated firmly.
"You sought refuge with the English?" the King snapped again.
"Yes," Perrin said.
"With my enemies?" the King snapped.
"Yes, your majesty," Perrin replied. "The English may be enemies, but they are Christians nonetheless, and Calais was the only place we could safely retreat to."
The King sat back in his seat. He nodded, but his gaze had resumed moving about the room.
"Your majesty, if I might continue?" Perrin asked.
The King didn't reply, but the Queen gave him a nod. "Speak, sir."
"As we retreated to Calais, we were trapped by the heathens at Audrehem. There was a great calamity, and our army was defeated by the heathens. Only a thousand men escaped; the rest were killed or captured."
King Charles suddenly waved his hand through the air. "D'Albret will handle it," he sighed. "He always does."
"Your majesty, Charles d'Albret was killed at Audrehem. I saw him die myself," Perrin said, fire in his voice. "The same with the Duke of Alençon, the Duke of Orléans, the Count of Marle, the Count of Roucy, and the Viscount of Puisaye. The Duke of Bourbon was captured, as were several thousand other worthy men. Jean le Maingre now leads what remains of the army, and he has retreated into Calais to help the English in defending it."
"So many worthy men dead, and yet you stand here," King Charles murmured. "What made you different? You claim you saw these men die, but I see no wounds on yourself. Are you immune to steel? Are you made of steel? It isn't fair that I am of glass and you metal! Or perhaps you are not steel. Perhaps you are just a coward who ran. A traitor who fights for the English!"
Perrin could only stare. His mouth moved silently, and he bit his lip to keep it silent.
"Or perhaps…" the King laughed hysterically. "Oh yes! Yes! This is it! You are not real! A mere figment, come to torment me again when my dreams fail to do so. My greatest challenge, for a knight may slay a beast with his sword, but he cannot slay his imagination. You torment me, yes you do! God's challenges never cease, eh?"
The King was halfway off his chair, and he couldn't stop laughing. His hands shook wildly. His feet tapped the ground with excitement.
Queen Isabeau took his arm and began walking him from the room.
"Come, your majesty," she spoke carefully to him. "Let's retire for the night."
King Charles only laughed in response. But he did not resist her pull, and the two of them disappeared through a doorway. The King's laughter continued to echo throughout the building.
Perrin was left with the Count of Armagnac, who hadn't said a word the whole exchange. He approached Perrin, who was still stunned with anger and shock at the King's behavior.
"The Duke of Orléans is dead?" Armagnac asked. Orléans had been his greatest ally against the Burgundians, and it had been the murder of Orléans's father that had started the whole dispute in the first place.
"Yes," Perrin said numbly. His gaze was fixated on where the King had sat.
Armagnac nodded slowly. He put a hand on Perrin's shoulder. "I apologize for the King's behavior. His madness comes and goes. The Queen and I thought he was lucid enough, but… well, you saw."
Perrin was quiet.
"I heard what you said," Armagnac continued. "I've got some influence while that soulless rat Burgundy is hiding away in his estates, and I'll raise a force to drive out the heathens you spoke of. Maybe after using it to teach Burgundy a lesson or two."
Perrin blinked and finally turned to Armagnac. "My lord, the heathen army is vast and contains creatures of immense strength. You cannot win without the Duke of Burgundy's help, and I ask that you reconcile your differences to deal with this threat. At Agincourt, the English fought alongside us against the heathens. Surely the Burgundians can be convinced to do likewise."
Armagnac scoffed and rolled his eyes. "John the Fearless didn't raise a finger when the English invaded Normandy, and he'll not raise one now. If anything, he'll try to use your heathens to destroy me."
"But the heathens…" Perrin began.
"Look, you're a good lad, but you clearly haven't been at court much. Burgundy would rather see France burn than allow me to rule it. Seeing as I'm in Paris, and he's not, I can't imagine he'll do much more than laugh while we fight your heathens."
Perrin furrowed his brow. "The King rules France," he stated.
Armagnac chuckled. "Of course he does." He eyed Perrin's armor. "Where are you headed to now? Back to le Maingre?"
Perrin shook his head. "Le Maingre is likely besieged in Calais. Besides, I was tasked to ride to Constance to inform the three popes on the heathen invasion."
"Your information is outdated," Armagnac divulged. "The council advised the popes to abdicate so that a new one can be chosen. Pope Gregory abdicated willingly and was made temporary head of the Church. Pope John fled Constance and was deposed in his absence. Pope Benedict just met with Emperor Sigismund and refused to abdicate, so the council's in the process of deposing him too."
"The schism is over then?" Perrin asked.
Armagnac shrugged. "It'll be at least a year before they elect a new Pope. Papal elections are always a political mess, so we'll see where that goes. In the meantime, Constance is the center of Church authority, but I doubt you'll convince the bishops to do much. You'd be better suited staying here to fight. I can get you a place in my retinue when the time comes."
"I have a sworn duty," Perrin protested.
"Of course you do," Armagnac yawned. "Good luck with that then. If you change your mind, the offer remains."
With that, Armagnac walked out of the room. Perrin was escorted out of the royal residence, politely, by a groom and led to the stables. Daniel was there, having brushed their horses in the time Perrin had been meeting with the King.
"Marcel came by to tell us we have a room at the Inn of the Three Foxes," Daniel informed him. "A single room again, but he said we could use the stables if that was unacceptable."
"A single room is fine," Perrin said. After meeting with the King and Armagnac, sharing a room with Claire seemed utterly trivial. "Let's get out of this place," he sighed.
The two of them rode from the Hôtel Saint-Pol into the city proper. Daniel led them to the inn, and Perrin had plenty of time to consider… things. About the state of France's monarchy. The factionalism of the Burgundians and Armagnacs. The disrepair of the Church.
He was in a poor mood when he entered the Inn of the Three Foxes. Daniel removed his armor, and then Perrin crossed the common room, intent on an early night.
Claire and Marcel were sitting in the common room at a table. They had acquired a few companions, and they were playing a game with cards, the new painted cards that cost a pretty penny. Claire was shuffling the deck, and she waved at Perrin.
"Do you play?" she asked, a bright smile plastered on her face. Even in the pit of despair, Perrin wanted to humor her. But the day's failure still stung.
"I am afraid I will be heading to bed," he said curtly.
Claire leaned out on her chair. "Nonsense! The night has just begun, and we are playing Ronfle. I can teach you if you don't know how."
"I really must-"
"Good knight, you would refuse a lady's request?" she asked, grinning.
Perrin tilted his head and said, "You're not a lady."
Claire touched her chest with mock dismay. "You say such cruel things to your dear sister! Am I not Claire de Godefroy, your lady-sister?"
Perrin found that he was grinning. "Very well," he said, taking a seat at their table. "I would ask if we play for stakes, but I seem to recall not having the coin to waste."
"I thought that a knight does not count coins," Claire challenged, giggling. She sipped at a cup of wine before passing it to Perrin.
Perrin drank from the cup and noted that the wine was very good. "Good thing there are no merchants around to do it for me," he laughed. "Well then, how do you play?"
Claire taught him, and then they played and drank. As the night progressed, a good deal of silver went from Perrin's purse to Claire's hands. But of course the silver went right back into Perrin's purse as soon as they finished. The night passed, and they drank more good wine.
Then, by some common consensus, they retired to their room with Marcel and Daniel.
And in the morning, Perrin felt his spirit restored.
Sometimes when I write, I discover that what a thought I knew about a period of history was actually completely wrong. I thought I knew about the Armagnac-Burgundian conflict in France only to discover that I knew oh so little when I started writing this chapter. A good amount of research later, I'm finally able to write about the tiny insignificant detail most readers probably won't care about in this chapter. Oh well. I suspect the exact same thing will happen when Perrin reaches the Council of Constance.
Also, a chapter with no action! Is this even one of my chapters? I find that I enjoy writing battles and fight scenes immensely, so naturally my writing features them extensively. I've had to teach myself how to make something interesting without the crutch of a fight scene. This chapter's also shorter than my typical chapters since originally it was meant to be combined with a Marius perspective but Perrin's journey ended up longer than I expected. That just means next chapter will probably be a Marius chapter.
Anyways, thank you for reading. If you're able, please do review and tell me if you're enjoying the story or not.