by A. E. Albert
“It’s all right, dear, we’ll find out what’s going on,” he said, as he comforted Jeanie in a hushed whisper.
Billy suddenly whipped his head around. As he faced Dickens, he yelled with fury, “What is going on? You’ve brought us right into the middle of some kind of war, that’s what’s going on!”
“Billy you need to stop getting angry at things out of your control!” Dickens snapped, startling Billy out of his tantrum. “We need to gather information, find out where and when we are. Then we can make a plan.” As Dickens finished, his voice was once again calm.
Billy’s jaw tightened in anger, but he knew that Dickens was right. Panicking right now wouldn’t be helpful, he told himself, as he listened to Jeanie whimper on Dickens’ shoulder.
Looking outside, he couldn’t see anything due to the dust cloud obscuring his vision. As if by a mutually silent pact, all three of the travelers huddled in the abandoned store and waited for whatever calamity that had befallen the town to end.
After about an hour of silence, Billy looked to Dickens. “I think we should get going, it’s been quiet out there for a while,” he whispered.
“I agree. Staying here is proving to be counterproductive.” Dickens turned to Jeanie, “Do you feel comfortable leaving, my dear?”
Jeanie's eyes were still puffy and red, and she sniffed as she nodded her head. “You’re right, the quicker we find out why we’re here, the quicker we can get home,” she said, as she dusted off her pants, following Billy to the door.
Billy slowly opened the front door, stuck his head out and cautiously peered down the street. The dust had cleared, and there were only a few people milling about. The tiny group proceeded to walk down the war torn streets, looking about them in shock. The town was obviously under attack.
Billy gazed at the crowded houses lining the street. It reminded him of Pisa. The homes were two to three stories high and built closely together. Although, most were narrow and tall, some were wider and sprawling. All of the roofs were unique in their design, each angled in various proportions. As they continued down the street, Billy could see that some were made of wood, some of stone and some a bit of both.
It was evident who were wealthy and who were from the urban peasant class. He saw homes with large bay windows and fancy ornate carving on the front of the house. Others were devoid of any decoration and some didn’t even have windows.
However, these homes had one thing in common; in some fashion they all bore vicious battle scars. Many windows that held glass were now broken and littered the street. Walls had massive holes in them, revealing the home’s interior. As the group gazed into these broken dwellings, rich or poor, the insides were scattered and torn apart.
Billy turned his attention to the few townsfolk wandering about. Some would glance their way, but seemed to have no interest in the strangers and their strange garments. He noticed some were dressed in peasant garb and others in richer attire. However, they all had the same vacant stare, gray sunken faces and tattered, dirty clothes hanging off their bones.
“Dickens, what’s wrong with these people?” asked Jeanie, whose eyes were wide with fear.
Dickens eyes probed the inhabitants as they wandered about like ghosts, his eyes hard and lips pursed. “These people are starving to death,” he said, his voice full of disgust and anger.
“What do you mean, starving to death? This looks like a regular town, or was,” Billy asked with a confused expression masking his features.
“Billy, these people are at war, or more specifically under a siege of some kind.”
“So? There’s always some kind of relief given to the people in wars. You know, like Fema or something,” he replied, still gazing at the townspeople with astonishment.
Dickens let out a humorless laugh. “Judging by the clothing and architecture, it looks like we’re somewhere in the 17th century and there is no relief. If a country wishes to make war, or lay siege, nothing can be done about it until one side wins. No one is going to come to these people’s aid, or I should say no one can at the moment.”
“So, they’re going to let these people die? Let kids starve until someone wins the town?”
“Unfortunately, yes. It wasn’t until the 20th century that real child welfare came into existence and even then it wasn’t very organized as it is in your time. Billy, children did jobs that were dangerous and unthinkable for much of history. They had no representation and in many parts of the world and even in your time, they still don’t.”
Billy then saw a young child about eight or nine wandering aimlessly down the street. He appeared to be alone. The young boy was crying and seemed to be gazing about for a familiar face.
“There has to be some kind of organization taking care of the kids who don’t have anybody?” he stated with a horrified expression as he stared at the child.
“Billy, parentless children are sometimes given to family members, but are usually brought to an orphanage. However, many usually resort to living on the streets. Besides, this is a city at war; there is no access to food for the general masses, much less an orphanage.”
“That’s ridiculous! You see it on the news all the time. You know, people gathering supplies for other countries!”
“The poor, the infirm, the sick, and the orphan were not significant to most of society in the past, much less to another country. In fact, they were a burden. When most of society is struggling as it is, these people are lost, resorting to begging on the street for food. The reigning governments are monarchies and not like the monarchies of your time. Taxes are used for luxury and the war machine, very rarely for the common folk. They don’t use their money to establish social programs. If they did, maybe the French and Russian revolutions would never have happened!”
Billy looked to Jeanie, who was kneeling before the young boy, offering him one of the apples they had taken from Pisa. Suddenly, a strangled yell came from his left and he looked over to see a man running toward her. Before Billy could react, the skinny and hollowed out man reached for the apple in the boy’s hand with desperation on his face. Jeanie’s face paled and she placed herself in front of the young boy.
Billy tightened his fists and moved to help Jeanie. However, he felt someone grab his sleeve and push him back, causing him to lose his balance and land on his backside. He looked up to see Dickens holding his cane like a baseball bat, striking the man hard on the forehead. He easily fell to the ground and laid there moaning as he held his bruised brow.
Dickens immediately turned to Jeanie. “Jeanie, are you alright!” he asked, his voice full of concern.
“I’m fine, Dickens. He just startled me,” she replied, and proceeded to give her attention to the youngster at her side. However, he seemed more concerned with eating his apple than being frightened.
Soft crying drew their attention to the pathetic and tattered man on the ground. “I am so sorry, young lady. I was not raised to behave in such a manner. Forgive me,” he pleaded, sounding horrified by what he had just tried to do.
“Ya right, buddy! Taking food from children, you’re a-” Billy yelled only to be interrupted by the pitiful creature before them.
“My family is starving and I don’t know how long my children will last. Damn this infernal siege!” he cried, holding his head in his hands. Dickens, Billy and Jeanie could do nothing but gaze down at the wretched man weeping on the cobbled stone road.
His clothes appeared to have once been of quality and the garb of the upper crust. He wore a loose white linen shirt with a green velvet vest over top, which ended in a vee below his waist. The jacket had puffed sleeves and a slit down the sides, revealing a dark blue silk material underneath. He wore tight fitting breeches, which were tucked into pointed black boots reaching his knees. However, the entire ensemble was dirty, worn and threadbare. The man’s black hair was past his shoulders and matted, a full beard covered his dirt streaked face.
“Where is your family?” asked Dickens in a short and abrupt
tone.
The man looked up, the dirt on his face streaked with tears. “My wife is with our two children at our home. I roam the streets daily in hopes of finding-”
Dickens rudely cut the man off. “Take us to them.”
The man just stared up in fear at the angry white haired man looming above him. “My family and I have nothing to give you.”
“But perhaps we have something we wish to give you.” The man continued to stare at Dickens with disbelief. “Do we look like we need your food?” Dickens added.
The man gazed at each of the new comers, noticing their full and colored cheeks for the first time. He awkwardly stood up, still staring at them in wonder and slowly nodded his head.
The man led them through winding, narrow streets until they arrived at a three story home. From the look of it, it was beautiful at one time. They entered the door, went up two flights of stairs and entered a large airy room. It had wooden planks for flooring and a small window with the glass missing. A large stuffed mattress was placed in the corner of the room, with ragged blankets in a heap on top. A heating stove was located against the far wall, with a long wooden rectangular table in front of it and benches on either side.
“I apologize for our humble furnishings.” The man nodded about the room. “We now live on the upper floors for safety and traded most of our furniture for food. Not that there’s much trading going on nowadays.”
Huddled on the mattress was a young woman holding two small children with fear in their eyes. The wife looked to her husband and saw the red welt protruding from his forehead. She ran across the room to him. “Maurice,” she cried, forgetting her fear, “what happened?”
He smiled sadly down at his wife. “It was my fault, dear, I attempted to take food from this young lady and her guardian rightfully prevented me from doing so.”
The woman’s attention returned to the strangers in her home, her children clinging to her legs. “Shhh, it’s all right. Gabrielle, Andre, it’s all right.” She turned to her husband, absently caressing her children’s hair. “Maurice, why have you brought these people here? There is barely enough food for ourselves, much less more mouths to feed!” she quietly demanded, her face pink with anger.
The bedraggled man looked at Dickens with an expression of embarrassment. “Please, excuse my wife. It is only our present circumstances that is the cause of her lack of hospitality,” he said as he nodded his head in apology.
The man turned to his wife. “Madeleine, I must right the wrong I have committed against these people.”
He quickly proceeded to introduce his family to his guests. “This is my wife Madeleine and these are my children, Gabrielle and Andre. And I am Maurice Merriot,” he announced, with a formal bow.
Billy quietly observed Maurice’s wife and children, who were also garbed in costly clothing. However, their clothes were simple and worn for daily use. Madeleine was a pretty young woman with dark blond hair and light blue eyes. She wore her tresses pulled back into a bun, the hair feathered and rising high off her head.
She wore a short jacket, and her elbow length sleeves were like her husband’s, puffed and slashed at the sides. Her blue skirt belled out and flowed to the floor. Around her neck was a stiff white collar, held up by wire. The color of her outfit was a plain solid blue and finished with small black pointed shoes. Like her husband, her clothes were dirt smeared and frayed.
Their two children were similarly dressed and in the same condition. Both were light haired and eyed like their mother.
Dickens smiled at him and his wife and then turned his gaze to the two youngsters at the woman’s feet. “Hello there,” he greeted them in a low and friendly tone.
Their only response was to silently stare up at the old man, their eyes appearing overly large on their small and sunken faces. Dickens lets out a small laugh, reached into his coat and pulled out two shiny red apples. The children stared at the fruit as if they were an apparition and moved not a muscle to reach for them.
“Go on, they’re yours,” he prompted with a smile.
Finally, the dazed children reached out their hands for the treat, their expressions not quite believing their luck. As they bite into the fruit, its juices ran down their chins. They looked up at their mother and their eyes conveyed a joyful emotion for the first time.
“Monsieur, where did you get these?” exclaimed the woman, tears of happiness in her eyes.
For the first time, someone in the town truly looked at the new comers. Madeleine gazed at her guests in a direct and forthcoming manner, “Who are you? Your dress, this food? However did you get into La Rochelle?” she demanded. Her tone quickly went from elated to suspicious.
“La Rochelle? France is it?” Billy heard Dickens murmur.
“Your accent, are you British? Did the British sneak you all in? Are you employed by their army to help us?” she further inquired as hope set into her blue eyes.
“Madeleine, hush now. We can talk later. Let our guests rest,” Maurice softly ordered his wife, giving her a light kiss on the top of her head. She closed her eyes, burrowing her head into the crook of his arm.
Billy walked over to the only window in the room and stuck his head out in order to get an idea of where they were. He could see that the town was surrounded by a large stone wall. There was a large harbor to the west, flanked by two enormous towers. Across the inlet leading into the harbor, Billy could see a long bridge type structure with a wooden building on it, closing it off.
Billy then noticed an island, surrounded by large ships. He looked to the other side of the harbor and could see a large army encampment reaching into the horizon. As he gazed at both sides, he noticed that different colored flags and pendants waved in the air.
The realization suddenly struck Billy. This small town was flanked by two very different armies and that he, Dickens and Jeanie were stranded right in the middle of them.
Chapter 29
Madeleine found suitable clothing for her unexpected guests and eyed their old garments with a curious gaze as she set them aside. They were clothed in a similar fashion as their hosts and the garments were in the same ratty condition. Billy almost laughed when he saw Jeanie’s face after she was dressed in her new clothes. For once she wasn’t very impressed with her attire.
Everyone seated themselves at the wooden table in front of the heating stove. Billy stared down into his bowl, which seemed to be a hot bowl of steaming…he didn’t have a clue. The liquid was foggy and opaque, with dark brown chunks floating in it. He was feeling hungry, but didn’t know if he was hungry enough to eat this.
“I am sorry, this is all that we have,” apologized a red faced Madeleine at seeing her guest’s expression.
Billy caught Dickens eye and judging from the frown on his face, he was telling Billy to eat the meal and be thankful for it. Billy took a spoonful and gingerly placed it in his mouth.
The broth had no flavor and the brown pieces of meat were tough, extremely tough. Billy was having a hard time chewing the food at all. He looked at Jeanie and found that she was having as much trouble as him.
Maurice laughed at the difficulty the children were having. “It takes getting used to, but believe me, a little shoe leather is better than nothing. The trick is boiling it all day and my Madeleine has mastered the technique.” He winked at his red-faced wife and then heartily began eating his food.
Billy almost choked. He was eating somebody’s shoe! He shut his eyes and forced the tough material down his throat, making his eyes water. He cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said as he pounded his chest.
Dickens looked about the room. “This seems to be some type of storage space. What was your occupation?”
“I sold grains. This area was where I stored them. Now, we are reduced to living up here. Not long after the siege had begun, my store was looted, and all of the grain was taken,” Maurice stated in a low and angry voice, not looking up from his meal.
As Dickens blew on his soup, he in
nocently inquired, “I gather times are tough. How long has it been this way?”
Maurice’s face turned into a scowl and his eyes burned. “Since the French built the blockade across the inlet, blocking the British from bringing us supplies. For most of the siege, the British has aided us with food and such. Now we are on our own. People have died by the thousands, and many have resorted to eating their pets. That is how low this siege has brought us. My family is eating their shoes for dinner. This war!” He pounded his fist against the table. “Fathers and husbands have lost the dignity of taking care of their own and reduced to watch them starve to death!”
Madeleine put her hand on her husband’s arm and said in a gentle voice, “Now Maurice, don’t upset the children. We know you do the best you can.”
Maurice turned to look at his wife with a saddened expression. “The best I can? I almost stole food out of a child’s hand, Madeleine. This is not living. We are the living dead of La Rochelle.”
“What is everybody fighting about?” asked Jeanie, gaining a curious stare from Madeleine.
Maurice almost smiled as he responded, “Yes, that is a good question, young lady! The King Louis XIII and his man, the Cardinal Richelieu, feel that there are too many Huguenot supporters in France. As you must know, France and her king is Catholic. But the Huguenot Protestants have grown powerful, and France has set out to obliterate them. La Rochelle is the last protestant stronghold in France. The king and his Cardinal have come to destroy us.”
Maurice shook his head and continued. “My family and I are not even Protestant, but Catholic and have nothing to do with the politics of France. However, we are here and are now drawn into the middle of their fight. The king himself and the Cardinal are here overseeing the siege.”
“I noticed two armies, who else is here?” Billy asked, as he valiantly tried to chew on another hunk of leather.
“That is the British who are based on the Isle of Re. They have been our allies since the beginning and brought us our necessities. But since the building of the blockade in the harbor, there has been nothing.”
