Sophia stood by in the surgeon’s tent, watching Fletcher breathe peacefully in his sleep. While she knew that Calvert had done his best, she also worried that he might have been irreversibly injured.

“Freccia,” she said in Italian, “I wish we could get to know each other more. You seem like a sweet, caring boy, but the fact that your language sounds like animal noises makes it hard for me.”

The tent flaps flew open.

“Ah, come to check on the messere again, doctor?” Sophia said, still staring at Fletcher.

“Why, yes of course. But I am certainly no doctor.” Crista said in Italian as she took her place on the other side of Fletcher’s bed. “I must say, he looks quite handsome in the light. Shame about those scars.”

Sophia scowled and whispered sharply in Italian, “Why the devil are you here? He needs his rest!”

“And why are you here, dear? Perhaps you fancy the boy? He does have a certain rustic charm…”

“Stay away from him.” Sophia hissed. She suddenly realized she felt a tinge of jealousy. But she refused to believe that she could ever be threatened by this jezebel of a woman.

“Ah, so you admit it. You peasant types would be good for each other I’m sure.” she said with a smile, “We of the nobility must not risk our reputations on such scandalous relationships; however, the temptation is still there.”

Crista took her hand and placed it gently on Fletcher’s shoulder. He made a small grunt.

“Precious boy.” Crista whispered, “I have not had the chance to see a man of my age in so long.”

Sophia was furious. She instinctively reached for her sword – which was not there. She had left her baldric with her other clothes. She would have to win this battle with words.

“You nobles always think you can get what you want, and when you cannot have it, you piss yourselves in a tantrum like small children!”

Crista’s gaze met Sophia’s. She was not smiling anymore, “We also do not swear as you country girls do; besides your way of life is dreadfully boring. May I remind you that if it were not for my father’s contract you would be back in your village or wherever you are from, churning butter or whatever it is you do.”

Sophia grit her teeth, “I am from Milan, you bitch. I was raised in a house, not a barn!”

“Hush, dear, do not wake the patient; and again with the swearing? So uncouth. You would make a terrible wife.”

“And you, signora, would make a terrible doormat! Without your servants to do anything for you, you are useless!”

“May I remind you, signora Fortezza, that it was I who descended from my tower and rescued myself!”

“By falling on his back!” Sophia said in a shrill whisper, pointing to Fletcher. “Your adventure was nothing! I killed two men and watched them die!”

“Well, I killed one man with Messere Fletcher’s dagger – while I was wearing my dress mind you, and I got not a drop of blood on it.”

“Are dresses and jewelry and shoes all you care about, you harlot? I take stock in more in life!”

“Again with this unwarranted hostility.” Crista said, rubbing her temples, “A peasant like you should know your place when talking to your betters. And I lied about the dress you’re wearing. For a textile merchant’s daughter, you do not seem to know how to dress yourself.”

Sophia’s face was turning red. Now she had insulted her family and her fashion sense, “I would slap you right now if it was not for him!”

Crista stared down at her, “Oh he will not wake, I am sure. Try it and see what happens.”

Sophia gritted her teeth and balled her hands up into fists, preparing for an outright brawl. Before she could land the first blow, however, Don Alfonso entered the tent.

“Ah, señoritas… am I interrupting something?”

“YES.” both chorused.

“Forgive me for prying, but…”

Crista turned and faced him, “Señor Villanueva, this is a private conversation. I suggest you leave.”

Stolen novel; please report.

Sophia, not even looking at him, said, “I appreciate your concern, signore, but I can handle this myself.”

“But…”

“LEAVE.” they chorused again. The don left without another word.

The two girls refused to acknowledge the fact that they just agreed on something.

Sophia pointed her finger at Crista, “Next time there will be no interruptions. If it was not for my ladylike demeanor, I would challenge you to a fucking duel.”

“My dear, you have the ladylike demeanor of a common alley cat, but if you did deign to challenge me, I would have accepted.”

Perturbed by her insolence, Crista left the tent, leaving Sophia alone once again with Fletcher, to whom she whispered, “If you touch her, I will cut your flesh pole off.” After which she kissed his forehead.

[https://i.imgur.com/0I6KawF.png]

“This is outrageous.” Greve Stenbock said to MacRae as Bjornsson untied a bunch of rabbit carcasses off of a saddle bag behind him. The two had just come back from a hunt to find that only one cannon was left standing, and the explosion that had destroyed the other three had also damaged the gun carriage, making movement out of the question.

“Yes, the situation is fucked, but,” said MacRae, “I have yet to stop the shelling.”

Thankfully, Talbot Company gunners were firing single projectiles at the palisade gate of the castle, adjusting their elevation with each miss. MacRae’s men would continue the siege as long as they had that single cannon working.

“I am thankful, colonel, that we managed to save one of the guns, but do not mistake my gratitude for complacency. What was the cause of the explosion?”

“Sabotage, sir. One of your men, some non-Swede, the quartermaster from what Captain Jaeger tells me, sabotaged your charges. He would have a lot to answer for if he weren’t dead.”

“You killed him? Idiot! He could have provided us with names, numbers, a motivation for this madness! Surely he cannot be working alone.”

“Yes… well, sir, he attacked the good captain, who was left with no course of action but to defend himself. I am quite sure you understand the necessity for action when a fuckin’ knife is coming down on you, do you not, sir?”

“Well, it makes no difference. I doubt any more ill could come of this siege. Have your men continue to concentrate fire on the gates. The sooner we get them down, the sooner we will be able to storm the castle. Lord preserve us, we may as well begin preparations for the assault now – a prolonged siege is no longer an option.”

The allied camp was a mess. Dancing, giggling, and fainted Swedish soldiers were still scattered about, and the kitchen at the Swedish camp had been dry since the day before. The only sane people around seemed to be the Talbot Company mercenaries, the officers, the devious Finns and a single sutler lady.

Now, the sutler was an older Livonian woman who sold coffee grounds, sugar, and turnip bread to the soldiers. She had been pushing her little cart through the camp ever since the Swedes had arrived. Now that nobody could buy her goods, she would retire home – to Jarlsberg.

Before the shelling had begun, no one had taken notice of the little old lady pushing a cart in and out of the city. She usually arrived in the small hours of the morning and left at sundown. When she returned, the palisade gates would open slightly for her.

Now that the Swedes were lobbing stone cannonballs at the fort, most normal people would be content to stay away from the large, noisy, whistling balls of death; but not Viktorija. Her routine was her routine, and nothing and no one would change that for her.

She descended from the hill, singing an old folk song as her rickety coffee cart traversed through the dirt trail that led away from the Swedish camp. The occasional whistle of cannonballs interrupted her tune, but she ignored them and kept singing anyway, as if she was in no danger at all.

The area between Jarlsberg and the Swedish hill was divided by a large field full of flowers – white oxeye daisies. Viktorija would often collect them and make them into ornate flower garlands that she would present to the girls at the castle. She wondered why those were no longer making them smile.

Another whistling cannonball overhead interrupted her thoughts.

She dismissed it and continued rolling through the field towards the fortress. Only a few more yards to go; even so, her old legs were still strong and they could walk for many miles if she kept at her own pace.

Suddenly, she saw the palisade gate shatter as it got hit by a cannonball. That would not be good for thieves, and the greve would be quite angry. She supposed that it was not her problem. She could hear screaming coming from within the castle. Of course, the soldiers would be upset. They would have to clean all of this up.

As she approached the gate, she greeted the sergeant of the watch, who simply yelled at her. It was strange that he used to speak Swedish and now spoke something else entirely. He even wore a different uniform. It mattered little to Viktorija.

Once she was safely inside the walls of Jarlsberg, she continued to push her little cart up to the palatial keep, where she would try to sell her goods to the young man that the greve had entrusted to keep his castle safe. A Colonel Casimir, she remembered. She did not appreciate all the people running in the streets or the yelling. That was dangerous.

She did not have to walk any further. The young man was on his beautiful white horse with that golden armor that made him look like an angel. He rode down the streets after the others who were running to the gate and crying out, but he stopped for Viktorija, because of course he would.

“Ah, babcia,” the young man said in Latvian. He had a peculiar accent. “You know that I would be happy to buy your delicious coffee, but I am slightly occupied at the moment.”

“Ah, a shame.” Viktorija replied, “The dancing Swedes did not want to buy anything either.”

“Dancing Swedes?” Casimir asked, intrigued. He stopped his horse and listened to what she had to say with genuine curiosity.

“Oh, you should have seen them, milord. They thought they were fishes on the land, swimming in the soil, laughing at the sky, all manner of foolishness.”

Casimir rubbed his chin. “And what of their commander?”

“He seemed very upset. His men had a bad case of the giggles, wouldn’t listen to him.”

“I see. Thank you, babcia. I think some of that coffee would be good for my humors right about now.”