La Mort de Jehanne la Sylvaine, sequel #1 to Deaths, 3/24/07

Between the Duke's men and the Goddams there was nothing to choose.  When spring came and the wars began again, it was flee into the woods or be butchered on the spot.  I was lucky in that I had a man, my sweet Jacquot, to flee with me.  How long we fled, or how far, I cannot say; but after long days and nights walking, stumbling through the trackless wilderness, we found a clearing that was "ours."  Quickly, working together, we built a tiny mud and wattle hut, just big enough to lie down in, and tall enough for me, but not for Jacquot, to stand in.  We had brought with us seeds for a garden, cabbage, beans, onions, which I planted and tended. Jacquot was clever and quick to snare the smaller creatures of the forest, birds and rabbits.  By dint of much effort with flint and steel, we managed to make a small fire for cooking and warmth at night.  In season, we searched for the meagre wild fruits and berries to be found in the forest, bilberries, hips (wild roses), and haws.   So we lived until the late fall, never quite starving, never really having our fill, while I grew heavier and more unwieldy with the baby in my belly, and ever more dependent upon poor, good Jacquot.  

Then suddenly, late one morning towards the end of October, with a thunder of horses' hooves, the Duke's men crashed in upon our little world.  They chased Jacquot down like a pig in a farmyard, laughing at my attempts to help him, knocking me brutally aside. They tied his hands behind his back, with a stick run through at the elbows, and led him off at a trot to be hanged.  Over and over, for days maybe, I played the scene over in my mind, standing in the doorway of the hut, then lying down:  If only the Duke's men had come at some other time...Why did they need to hang my poor Jacquot?  And me alone, starving, cold; the garden long since finished, the fire gone out; feeling so sorry for myself, for my baby. And, after an eternity of regret and misery, I died.