Earning the Love of a Princess-Chapter 156: Necessity

7 June, 1360. Eberelle County, Northern Islia

William’s hunch about the peasant girl Joan Marcel proved correct. Over the next several days, he caught occasional glimpses of her around the Islian camp, trying to keep the hem of her dress from dragging along the muddy ground.

She glared at him resentfully every time their eyes met.

William had no reply for her. What exactly was she expecting from him? He’d fed her and done his best to provide a measure of protection. He couldn’t offer her more, certainly not a place in his bed. Other men of course, would have no such reservations.

He soon discovered she was sharing the tent of one of his subordinates, Sir Robert Cherbourn. There wasn’t much William could do about it. While women were not encouraged with battle camps, they were usually an unavoidable result. So long as Sir Robert performed his duties as a knight, William couldn’t really fault him.

That evening, Prince Thomas joined William in King Edward’s tent and the two of them spent hours poring over maps and rereading the reports their scouts had brought back after canvassing the movements of the Moraigthian forces.

Six nights ago, the two halves of the Islian army had finally reunited. William had been relieved and glad to see all his cousins were alive and well, though somewhat thinner. Rufus in particular had been hit particularly hard by fever but seemed to be slowly improving.

It had been an immense relief for the two groups to join together again into a single, cohesive force. Every day they had been apart, William knew there was a risk one of the smaller groups would face an attack from Kenneth’s army and end up hopelessly outnumbered. However, a combination of the river being swollen heavy rains and the illness ravaging the Moraigthian forces had stopped them from launching another attack.

At this rate, William thought sardonically, victory would go to the side that could withstand illness and the swamp like conditions longer, not necessarily the one who was stronger on the battlefield.

Tom nibbled on a piece of jerky as he reviewed the written report, then cursed. "This filth isn’t even worth feeding to animals." He hurled the half eaten meat through the open tent flap, in disgust. "When we’re back at court, I’m going to do nothing but get roaring drunk on sweet wine and eat roast pheasant for a week."

William grinned. "Stop it, Tom. You’re making my mouth water."

"And once I’ve eaten and drunk my fill, I’m going to spend the following week at the finest brothels I can find." Tom continued. There were hollows in his usually round, ruddy cheeks and one side of his hair was cut messily shorter than the other, the result of clerics having to reach and stitch a deep cut to his scalp from battle.

"Why, Tom. I’m surprised and saddened to hear you wouldn’t choose to find comfort in your wife’s arms first." William said with imitation piety. He couldn’t resist one jab at his cousin.

Tom scowled. "Ugh. The only good thing about this war, and I truly mean the very only thing, is that I don’t have to see Eleanor’s sour face every morning." He leaned back from the maps spread out in front of him, to stretch his neck. "Speaking of wenches...have you noticed a handful of women have joined the camp? Even this hellish, fever ridden swamp hasn’t stopped them from appearing."

William shrugged. "When was there ever an army without doxies? Besides, the countryside is teeming with peasants with nothing to eat. No crops, no animals, no homes. Are you really surprised? Necessity calls."

"Aye, it’s the sad truth. Fuck that Moraigthian son of a bitch, for starting all this." Tom rumbled. Then he sighed, quite unexpectedly, "I hope Mother is alright, having to keep the court running in our absence. I hope her health doesn’t break down because of it."

William closed his eyes briefly. Westerhaven seemed so far away, almost another lifetime ago. "I’m sure she is well. Her Majesty knows what she’s doing as Regent." he replied. "She’s been in this position before, more than once."

Yearning churned through William at the thought of being home.

He’d thought about sending Camilla a note with the messengers that departed south on a fairly regular basis, but didn’t know what to write to her. Should he tell her he was well when he wasn’t? When he was exhausted, hungry and low in spirits?

William saw no point sharing the horror and deprivation of war with his wife.

- - -

Camilla sat in an armchair in Elizabeth’s bedchamber, baby Kate on her lap. She couldn’t stop laughing at all the comical faces that the little one made.

The baby was supposed to be tightly swaddled onto a timber board. However, the intense heat was such that even the midwives advised against it. So the tiny girl was able to kick her little legs and wave her fists, which Camilla found amusing to watch.

The bedchamber windows were thrown open to catch even the slightest breath of breeze moving in the damp, sultry air. Camilla brushed her hair off her damp nape. For the first time in her life, she was seriously considering hacking it all off.

Sitting on the bed, Elizabeth fanned herself, eyes half closed. "This heat will end us all." she muttered. "I can barely sleep at night and Kate struggles as well. The wet nurse and I have started dampening the linen in the cradle to try and cool her somewhat."

"The poor baby." Camilla sighed. "And yes, nighttime is just horrible. I’m tempted to cut all my hair off just to stop the feeling of it sticking to my neck all day."

Elizabeth looked at her with sympathy. "Being with child makes you feel even hotter. Though I suggest you leave your hair alone. I think the prince will protest if he returns to find you looking like one of his young pages."

Both ladies laughed, trying to picture Camilla with close cropped hair. She ran a hand over the protruding curve of her belly.

Ever since her near miscarriage the previous month, everyone had been treating Camilla like she was at death’s door. Bonnie followed her everywhere and she was encouraged to spend most of her days lying or sitting, to rest quietly. For someone who was used to being lithe and active, such a sedate pace of life was frustrating.

Still, Camilla followed instructions and took all precautions. She was feeling well again, more like herself and with more of her usual energy. She was happy to do anything she was asked, so long as the dreadful nausea never came back. Tession’s remedies had helped her be able to eat more than just bread. And since a few weeks ago, she’d started feeling the flutterings of the child in her belly, which had both shocked and delighted her.

When she’d told Elizabeth, her lady-in-waiting had laughingly replied that as the weeks continued to march on, the flutterings would turn into sharp jabs and kicks that wouldn’t make her smile so much as gasp for breath.

"Bess, did you know you were having a girl?" Camilla asked as she patted Kate’s little back.

Elizabeth looked pensive for a moment. "I had a suspicion, yes. Though perhaps it was mixed in with my own hopes. Archibald never came out and said so, but I think his preference was for a daughter. So perhaps that skewed my thinking."

Camilla nodded, then noticed Elizabeth looking at her with a questioning expression.

"Do you have an idea of what your child is, my lady?"

"Not really." Camilla admitted. "Sometimes I think it’s a boy but that’s only because I remember a little of what William was like as a young lad, so I keep picturing that. To be honest, whichever option he’ll accept the most easily, is the one I want. Then again, I don’t know which option that is."

Elizabeth bobbed her head quietly. "Do you have any idea if your husband has received any of your letters?"

"None whatsoever, Bess. That’s partly what makes the wait so hard. I wrote him another note earlier this week. Who knows if that will reach him either?" Camilla smiled grimly. "All we can do is wait and hope our children meet their fathers before they’re old enough to be wed themselves."

Elizabeth tried to smile and lighten the mood. "How old were you when you first met the prince, my lady?"

"Six or seven, I think. I don’t remember too much of it. We did however cross paths again a few years later at my uncle’s palace of Port Canfirth. I remember that a lot more clearly." Camilla laughed at the memory. "Mostly because William was a troublemaker."

"Was he as angelic looking a youth as he is a man?"

"Oh yes." Camilla groaned. "He was stunning and you could just tell he’d grow up to be unfairly handsome. I didn’t like him very much at the time but even I could see it."

The idea of having a fair haired, angelic looking little boy in her belly made her smile. She hoped William would also eventually smile.