Earning the Love of a Princess-Chapter 150: Irritation
26 April, 1360. Westerhaven Palace, Islia
Camilla sat in the shade of an ancient tree in the eastern gardens, fanning herself irritably. It wasn’t even May yet and the humidity, combined with the rising heat, were starting to make the days uncomfortable for the palace’s occupants. The very slight breeze was nowhere near enough to cool the day down.
Camilla could now appreciate why in the past, the court had always fled Westerhaven for the cooler north, before spring truly took hold.
This year though, it would be impossible to move north while war continued to rage against the Moraigthians. Barring an absolute miracle, the remaining court would have to suffer through a hot, humid southern summer for their own safety.
The news continued arriving to the palace from the north fairly steadily. After their defeat a fortnight or so ago, the Islian forces had started to recuperate and strategise for the next clash, though they maintained their split of being in two separate groups. Camilla wasn’t sure if the army not rejoining into a single large force was deliberate or not.
Unfortunately, after their victory along the banks of the River Caine, the Moraigthians had refused to engage in another decisive battle. They went back to carrying out small raids and skirmishes, frustrating the Islians.
At least she knew William was still alive, though she was unsure what condition he was in. The most recent news from the king’s messenger had confirmed William and his battalion were encamped on a bend in the riverbank alongside Prince Leo’s forces and King Edward himself. The remaining princes and their men were some distance south.
Beyond that, Camilla had no idea of how William was faring, whether he was injured or had been struck by tertian fever, whether he’d received her letter commiserating on Richard’s passing. The not knowing how he was, was tearing her up inside. It had already been two months since she’d last seen him.
Across the gardens, Camilla saw Princess Violet walking slowly with a few of her ladies, her four boisterous young children behind her. She was surprised at the simplicity of the elder princess’s gown, though not by the sullen expression on her sweaty face. Camilla had noticed all the court ladies were dressing far more simply these days - partly from the lack of men to preen in front of, partly from the humid air.
The messenger had confirmed Prince Leo had been gravely injured during the recent major battle, though he was healing steadily and apart from a scar on his face, was expected to recover.
Camilla wondered how Violet truly felt about the news. Had she worried for her husband as the man, or simply as the heir to the Islian throne? Did she love Leo, despite their heated quarrels and his infidelities, or did she simply see him as a necessity to endure in order to be a queen one day?
The nature of other people’s marriages was still a mystery to Camilla. She only had the love between William and herself to compare against. Even then though, she knew enough to understand that she was a very fortunate wife.
Violet drew closer without speaking, but aimed a nod at Camilla. Camilla smiled and nodded back. Violet’s frosty behaviour towards her had softened ever so slightly since the war had started. Perhaps Violet realised that despite their different backgrounds, the two of them now found themselves in the same situation - bored and anxious as they waited for their men to return.
Camilla blew back a strand of hair that was tickling her face and sighed. Violet’s children were fighting and shrieking in a way that was starting to annoy her. One little girl was sobbing loudly.
She could feel her back was damp with sweat, despite her loose, light silk gown. She was reminded of several times when William had confirmed he preferred her light, simple dresses because he found them so much easier to remove in a hurry.
For some things, that man was always in a hurry.
The memory made Camilla’s lips smile and heart ache at the same time. Shaking off her self pity, Camilla stood up and decided to head back inside before the sound of the wailing, fighting children really became unbearable. Perhaps she’d visit Tession for a while. She knew her old friend wouldn’t put up with her wallowing in sadness.
She also resolved to ask him if it was possible to still be a good mother when the sight and sound of other people’s children made you want to gag them.
- - -
William slowly sat up with the groan of a much older man, peeling the once cold cloth from his forehead. Sleeping on the hard ground inside his tent wasn’t doing his back any favours, but there was no time for any sort of luxury or comfort on this wretched campaign.
The shifting, sneaky approach tactics being employed by the Moraigthian army meant that William and his men needed to be ready to march and change positions at a moment’s notice. It meant cold food rations and the need to throw down a tent hastily on the ground to snatch a few hours sleep whenever possible.
William rubbed his eyes, trying to wake himself properly. It wasn’t like him to fall asleep in the afternoon but he hadn’t quite managed to shake off the lingering fevers yet. He stretched his neck, trying to avoid flexing the shoulder that still had a healing sword wound in it.
The entry flap of his tent twitched open as Robin Sainsbury ducked inside, carrying food. He sat himself down next to William on the ground and passed him his rations - two slightly bruised looking apples and a chunk of dried, salted beef that looked like it was hard enough to use as a small catapult. William’s stomach rumbled at the sight, despite the meagreness of the food.
"What is the time? Nearly sunset?" William asked.
"Yes, almost." Robin nodded, then tried to tear off a bite of his own piece of beef, grimacing with the effort. "It’s good you managed to get at least a little rest. How are you feeling, Will?"
"Glorious. And you?"
"Never better. Like I could dance the night away with a pretty girl." Robin gave him a wan smile, having grown alarmingly thin over the last few weeks. His typical round faced cheerfulness was a thing of the past.
The two men exchanged bitter smiles as they ate in silence for a while. Then Robin pulled out one of his apples from pocket and tried to polish it. "How much longer do you think those bastards will keep hiding from us and refuse to engage in another battle?"
"Hopefully for us, not much longer. The fever had already brought our forces low even before they unleashed those feral pagan dogs on us." When he closed his eyes, William could sometimes see the faces of the barbarians, faces streaked with blue war paint and teeth bared as they threw themselves at him.
"At least the Moraigthians haven’t been spared from illness." Robin spoke with quiet, malicious pleasure. The latest word from their spies was that a bloody flux was working its way through the enemy army. "I hope it kills every fucking last one of them, including their godless king."
William watched Robin as he chewed his own food, having never heard that level of vitriol in his voice before. Then again, war had a way of hardening a man’s soul.
"And at least we know our families are safe, far away." Robin murmured, the vicious scowl darkening his face slowly beginning to ease. "Though they’ll have to endure a summer in the swamps, which is its own special kind of hell."
William knew that Robin’s mother, Lady Sainsbury, had left her family’s estate in the northwest of the country and sought refuge in Westerhaven, along with Robin’s two younger sisters. Robin didn’t speak much about his family but William knew he cared deeply for them.
"Damn. What I wouldn’t give to be home again." William sighed. The thought of being back at court, sleeping in his own bed and in the arms of his beloved wife, sounded like a distant heaven. To wash in clean water, eat decent food and be able to rest uninterrupted. He promised himself to never again complain about Westerhaven as a palace. Even a hot, insect ridden summer there would be paradise compared to this campaign.
Both men heard the sound of a horn outside the tent - two short blasts, followed by a longer one. It was the signal for King Edward’s summoning of his commanders and most senior knights to his tent for a strategy meeting.
William rose and pulled Robin to his feet as well. As the two stepped out of the tent, Robin said thoughtfully, "The king’s meetings these days are a strange sight without Rich present. I can’t quite believe he’s gone."
William nodded. "Neither can I." That sentiment at least, was the truth.
