Chapitre 3: A general
-My general- a female voice broke the silence that had been created for a while in the spacious military tent -why don't you come back here in bed for a while, it's cold ... - the woman's voice seemed a mixture of sleepy and mischievous.
-I think that's okay for tonight, thanks anyway- replied the man, who, taken up with his chores, was sitting composedly at the small wooden table that had been set up there. The woman stretched her arms inside the pallet set up for that night's camp. She got up slowly from the bed and went to a basin to wash off all the sweat accumulated in the previous hours.
She was young and beautiful in appearance, a young woman of an unclear age between seventeen and twenty, with long amber brown hair that reached her butt, a small upturned nose and two hazel-coloured brown eyes.
Gilbert, as a young noble man had a particularly fine taste in ladies. He liked the feel of their soft, fine skin, their hair, the shapes of their bodies. The cold came in a gust inside the tent so much that the man's bare chest shivered. Gilbert Stanley, also known as the Viscount of Man had been a general and part of the army for eight years now and had always been considered one of the most valiant generals who had ever led the British melee.
He was a relatively young man, he was now in the fullness of his twenty-three years and shone in the handsome and robust manly aspect of him. Born as the fourth child of Viscount James Stanley of the Isle of Man, he would not have had a real inheritance anyway.
Gilbert could not say anything, in the nobility it was all a matter of fate, it was like a game of dice or like the flip of a coin with two different sides, you had to be lucky enough to be the first-born. If one came into the world as a second-born it didn't count nothing, neither in the eyes of others nor in the eyes of one's father.
The general was however a good-looking man, long hair of a particular coppery red fell to a length slightly more extended than his broad shoulders, he had two small eyes, which gave him a more mischievous look and a massive colour to his pale face by the grey colour of his eyes.The noise of the sponge rubbing the fresh young body of the girl in the basin distracted him from his intent, from his precious letter, but he could not help it, the ladies were apparently his weakness.
The English army had just been withdrawing from Wales where they had recently won a battle with the local army near the village of Newport, they were at that moment returning home victorious, and for the night they had had time to set up military tents and set up a small camp near Bristol. They were at that time in the open countryside. The smell of horse dung suddenly burst into the tent together with a strong gust of wind that made the man's bare chest and the body of the young woman shiver.
The young woman finished wiping off the sweat and dressed in her long blue dress, she combed her long brown hair for a short time. -There are three gold coins, as agreed, I left them next to the bed- Gilbert continued undaunted and with an almost maniacal precision to write his letter that did not even turn to look into the eyes of the woman with whom he had spent the night.
She bent over the floor and greedily took the three gold coins in her hands, stroking them with her delicate fingers before putting them in a small leather bag that she kept well preserved in one of the pockets of her long dress. At that moment the general expected to be hit by a feminine smell, a sweet smell like sugar coming from the girl, but none of this happened, despite she was good looking she smelled of goat hair and milk .
The man knew that smell very well, it was the overbearing smell that characterized peasants. He was not surprised that the young woman did not smell good, she was neither rich nor an aristocrat.
It was customary for many local people to be taken prisoner in battles, children to be slaughtered and left to die in the putrid provincial streets or younger women to be raped and many of them later gave birth to bastards. Some women were taken inside the camp to serve as sex attendants. The young prisoners taken into the camp for these purposes were not treated badly or in any way better than other war hostages. They were offered the remains of military meals and were allowed to divide a common tent as well as receive a minimal pay after their work.
-I wish you a good evening my lord- said the young woman making a bow and leaving the tent. Gilbert took a look outside the tent. He was able to perceive with his eyes the lights out there, the voices of soldiers and the disturbing noise of their shoes trampling the muddy ground. Some steps were closer to the tent, others further away, but he had always been good and agile in terms of hearing and he could hear that some steps were definitely approaching the entrance of his tent.
The general approached the palm of his hand to the pommel of his heavy dagger, he was definitely ready to attack in an emergency situation. -May I come in? - the voice preceded Gilbert's abrupt action. His hands let go of the dagger hilt causing it to fall to the ground together with a ferrous thud. Gilbert knew that voice well, and even not having time to take his eyes off the letter, a satisfied and proud smile stood on his face.
- Come in, there is no need to ask- The curious brown eyes of a man emerged from the opening of the tent and peeked at what the general was doing. - Are you writing? I didn't know you were the kind of person so creative to compose letters ... -The entire figure of the man entered the structure, he was a young man in his twenties with thick and relatively long dark brown hair. He stared at the general with his chestnut brown eyes with an air of false arrogance. Gilbert knew him well, his name was Francis Hoover and it seemed an eternity that the two had known each other.
Francis was the nephew of the major commander and therefore considered a relatively important person both by infantry and cavalry. Upon entering the man's tent, a mixture of smells spread in the air around him, most of them pleasant smells, for example that of the white musk oil that Francis used for the care of his hair or even the smell of new and fresh clothes. Gilbert was good at perceiving even the slightest smell and his nostrils perceived on the body of the other a basic smell which, as already mentioned, characterising and distinguishing the aristocrats from the plebeians.
Francis himself could not be considered a noble, yes, noble blood flowed in his veins as much as plebeian blood. The young man was in fact an illegitimate son or also commonly called a "bastard", he was in fact born between the illegitimate union of the marquis of Orkney Islands, who used to serve as prime minister at the Warwick court and a young courtesan.
Francis lay down confidentially on his friend's bed and began to stretch his arms ending up lying with both hands gathered behind his head. -Who are you writing to? To your young betrothed, the young Princess Isabelle, perhaps? - the young man began to speak with a satisfied smirk on his face. -No, I'm writing a letter to my sister- Gilbert answered finally putting the nib in the inkwell and blew slowly and with an almost innate pressure on the fresh black ink to dry it.
-We haven't seen you once this evening, all the day here, closed in the tent to write ... -commented Francis who seemed bored with his voice to feel sorry for his partner.
-This is the second letter I write, I have already sent one to my father ... - Gilbert said taking a small iron ring with the banner of his house attached in wax on it - I have to send a pigeon to Glastonbury Abbey, if you help me you would do me a great favour- the general pointed out at the end, inserting precisely the parchment inside the small ring. -I want my sister to know that I am safe and alive and to know what I have done, for her, for all of you ... -.
Hoover covered both eyes with the palms of his hands, full of small wounds from the brutal battle a few days earlier and sighed for a long time while continuing to look at the top of the large tent of the camp. Gilbert slowly sat back in the cross-membered chair of hard and partially uncomfortable black leather, dipping his sturdy hands into his auburn hair. The general's hands ached, it was not a good feeling and by taking a closer look at it you could see that all the man's veins were noticeably visible.
This was all due to the stress accumulated in the last few days and the strength with which Gilbert had firmly grasped his heavy musket during the Battle of Wales. A couple of days had already passed since the retreat from the lands of the British east and finally retreating they had found the consent of the southern marquisate to be able to stay in their lands.
They were safe as long as they had been in the lands of the marquisate and had not crossed the borders. On the other hand the Marquis of the South like many other lords of the English territory were all vassals of the royal house of England, it was therefore in their interest that their army could stay safe.
-I order you, as your superior to bring a pigeon here, to my tent- these words came out like a sigh from the general's mouth. Francis Hoover was quite amazed by the order. Despite being the nephew of the superior commander, the head of all units in the army, Hoover was not used to receive orders in such a tone of voice.
The young man had been in the army for five and a half years now and if there was one thing they had put in his head as a boy it was that the army is a unit organised on solid foundations and solid principles and that people with a higher degree had to be respected.
-Sorry, my lord, I will immediately get a pigeon- fear took Francis off guard so much that his friendly attitude completely changed into a sure respectful and decidedly more military attitude. He stopped for a few moments to stare at the general's face, he was afraid, every time the gazes of the two met, the young man began to experience cold sweats, his head ached.
Francis definitely thought as Gilbert as a very pleasing and attractive man. Francis Hoover felt love and many emotions for this man and that was beautiful, even though he didn't have the courage to tell him. The young man started to get out of the tent, but something told him to stop his body, stop his movements for a few seconds. His body stood majestically in front of the exit without blinking or moving any muscle.
-Gilbert ... - the cold winter air came and went in clouds of white vapour from his half-open lips. -This evening to celebrate our victory in the eastern territories, my uncle has decided to celebrate a banquet, I hope you decide to to come...-.
The general turned his face to the young man who could be seen was sweating cold. The pale face of the man took a turn of struck and curiosity.
-I will think about it- replied the general putting his hand to his face and sighing. Francis was right about one thing, he had spent a day of reclusion in his tent without encountering any other voice and body than that of a young prostitute. Certainly that evening some genuine mug of beer would not be bad for the general.
-Go now, I do not understand what you are waiting for- continued the general holding one of his hands to massage the wet and sweaty forehead.
-Yes, my lord- Francis replied bowing like a faithful servant and immediately leaving the man's tent.
Gilbert left the chair he was sitting on and decided to put on his white shirt and put his soldier's red jacket over it. The general took a closer look at the color of his shirt and noticed that despite having been washed since two days some of the blood stains from the previous battle continued to remain and partially dull red his clothes. In any case, he decided to go out and get some fresh air, let it enter his body and take a few steps here and there exploring the field.
The camp was in any case quite small, since there was not enough time to be able to set up more than twenty tents. Most of the tents were the same colour of forest green, except for the few officers' tents which took a darker colour of green instead. It was cold and the air around him in the field smelled incredibly of horse dung and sometimes urine and human blood.
The grass beneath him was damp and wet with dew and made his feet cold. Gilbert immediately noticed a small campfire lit in a hurry in the middle of a small clearing that had been covered with sand and earth, dug and returned to the ground. The man approached the fire, the red glow was partially covered by the backs of a small group of soldiers who communicated in a fairly noisy way.
Gilbert kept his distance anyway, he didn't go down into the valley where the campfire had been lit, but decided to stay on the hill. Even now that he stood still, looking out over the immense forests from the hilltop, he had a body and posture that was completely majestic and confident.
The general could be proud of himself, he had started to join the army from the young age of fifteen as a simple cadet and with time and competition in the tough military society, he had managed to assert himself, and now, eight years later he had become general. -Good day, general! - one of the men sitting around the fire began to shake his hand in the air, suddenly attracting Gilbert's attention -would you like to join us? -
The man on the hill smiled but shook his head along with one of his hands -No, thank you, that is good so, thanks anyway-.
-Come on general! - the voice of a second soldier reassured him -we have some very good wine and a hare, when will this opportunity come again?-. This last statement created a great uproar among all present, who in a disgustingly quick shouting begged the general to come down the hill and join them. All those voices mixed in a completely unpleasant way in the mind of the man who in the end, in order not to continue that deafening mix of voices, accepted the invitation.
He sat down on one of the long pieces of wood arranged by the fire and it was then that he realised he knew each member of the group by heart. The first he noticed were the two young Dickon and William of the Dustin house, twin brothers and last heirs of an ancient dynasty of the Southern territories of Ireland, characterised by their fiery red hairs and their big hazel brown eyes.
The third to be seated there was a decidedly older man from the Isle of Man (halfway between England and Ireland), his name was Jack, son of a fisherman, many there called him Jack the drunkard for the heavy smell of alcohol that he carried with him wherever he went.
The last man to sit there was called Martin, he was a simple man, the colour of his skin was dark and beautiful, in his middle thirties, he didn't talk much, so no one knew where he came from or what family origin he had.
As soon as the general took his place, hare meat was served to him and a rough, damp chamois-skin bottle containing wine was placed in his hands. The man took and drank some, it had a sour taste and he did not like it, he was used to the sweet wine that was served every evening on his noble father's table. He immediately felt like spitting out that mixture of pungent flavours, but to compared to his companions he did not, he swallowed.
-That wine tastes like horse piss, doesn't it? - Jack the drunkard began to comment, letting out his mouth in which still a few teeth were.
-What do you mean? Have you ever drunk horse urine? - asked one of the two tawny twins Dustin relatively interested in the subject, while the other twin just let out an arrogant giggle from his thin pink lips.
-Was only to say ... to hell with it! You children of aristocrats do not understand anything at all ...-said Jack embittered, taking back the bottle and continuing to drink - we plebeians make up the bunch while you two, Dustin twins, what do you know about life? - the man retorted continuing to knock down the wine.
Dickon and William briefly looked into each other's eyes and slowly began tapping their long fingers on their black pants. Gilbert sometimes took a look at the Dustin brothers, it was disturbing to think that two individuals could be physically and psychologically the same. Yes, they were born from the same semen and shared the same maternal uterus together for nine months, they were born one few minutes after the other and most likely shared the same childhood. Gilbert knew all this, but it seemed almost surprising to him how the two, despite being separate individuals, shared the same gestures and movements.
- It is not as easy as it seems, even in noble society there are many problems ... - William began to speak - the relationships with the family are completely different, the most important is always the firstborn, the other children are not as half as important, if we were important for our father we would not be here, fighting in the infantry ... -.
Jack did not seem very convinced and when the bottle ran out of his wine he threw the object violently on the ground, almost disgusted, he kept repeating and muttering - you young nobles ... you don't understand anything about life ... -.
Martin throughout the speech had been patiently observing what the others were doing, without saying anything, without objecting or taking sides, that man was clearly mysterious or just so shy to be able to speak in front of everyone.
-Whatever ... - one of the Dustin twins started talking trying to break the tension that was created at that moment. -I heard that the general will marry Princess Isabelle shortly ... -
-Incredible ... - commented the other twin at his side -I heard that the princess is the most magnificent lady in all of England, hair soft and blond like gold...what would I give for a night with her ... - Dickon finished the speech incredibly blushing her freckled pale cheeks.
Gilbert did not want to hear about the subject that evening, he knew well that that marriage would put a brutal and cruel end to his wild love affairs. The general had never been able to do without the warmth that those graceful bodies brought to his soul, the feeling of her hands in those long and soft hair, their feminine smell, knowing that he had to give up all that almost hurt him.
He remembered the first time he shared his bed with a woman. At the time he was still a young boy of just sixteen years old, at the time his target was a young girl in particular. The girl's name was Eveline and she was the last born of the miller's family. He still remembered the young woman's thick brown hair, her eyes as black as the star-studded night, he felt for the first time what it meant to look at those black eyes of her to feel her with him.
-Yes, sure, nice, brother, even if I slept with more attractive women- William replied brutally against all Dickon's excitement.
-If that is the case, I have slept with ladies twice the most attractive of all your put together ... - the twin replied with arrogant defiance.
Gilbert's conversation bored him considerably, especially at that moment when the Dustin twins had decided to make that a question of sex and a wild challenge between brothers. - Shut those stupid mouths! You are talking as if you no longer think with your brain ... -Martin began to speak, making everyone very surprised that the man had started talking for the first time in the whole conversation and perhaps in his entire life.
The tense air that was created did not last long, also because that man who had once spoken changed back into the silent Martin who, without adding any more words, raised his mighty and very tall body from the wood and left the group speechless.
- Hell if that man is sick...- commented one of the Dustin twins - I don't know what's wrong with him, so all of a sudden ... -.
-Surely he is crazy, brother- commented the other at his side. Gilbert also waited for an answer from Jack, who, unbeknownst to everyone, was lying on the ground incredibly strongly attached to his flask. No one dared to comment if that old drunkard had kicked the bucket for too much alcohol or was lying dozing on the ground.
The air all around them smelled completely of horse dung, alcohol and wine, and melted candle wax. That unlikely stench made the general sick. The main idea was to get rid of the two twins, before one or the other made impertinent considerations or unpleasant jokes as they used to do.
Gilbert started to get up from the rough wooden log and neither of them said anything. The general went back to his tent on the hill, without saying a word, he knew what kind of deprivation he would have to suffer in his future. He also knew that if everything went as planned, at dawn they would leave, they would cross Glouchestershire they would reach Warwick by evening and there he would meet the angelic princess Isabelle for the first time.
Within a few months they would be married, consummating their marriage in the night and creating a family of little princes and princesses that would one day become legitimate heirs of the English throne.
He would have become from a simple general and viscount of Man a prince consort, at the knowledge of such a future many young mens would have rejoiced, but Gilbert was not one of them.
Gilbert only cared about one thing, his freedom.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone