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MARCH 1512

THE OLD WORLD

THE WHISPERER

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I sipped weak ginger ale, most of us in the camp were nursing our heads from last night's endeavours. The mood was good, we were lively and happy after the excellent hunting trip we had last night. French children played around us. They were here as a sign of trust from the French to us, English. I watched the people around me, joking, a loaf of bread was being thrown around and I shook my head in amusement.

"Thinking," Ralph yelled from across the hall. I rolled my eyes at him.

"It is certainly none of your business," I joked. He grinned at me and left me to my thoughts. A ball flew across the field into our camp. I grinned and picked it up.

"Which one of you rascals there, threw this," I joked looking at the children who had come forward.

"Calm down, lad," Ralph teased next to me. A boy stepped forward. The people around me got up.

"Is it yours," I asked, pushing the ball forward.

"I threw it, sire," the boy grinned, seeing we were just teasing him.

"Well," I said juggling the ball, "I'd return it, if you allowed us to join."

"I want to play too," Ralph said beside me.

"Okay, sire," the boy said looking back at his friends, "But you shan't win."

"Ahh, see what we have in front of us," Alfred joked, "A fine soldier." I laughed and threw the ball back at the soldier. For the next hour or so, us adults and children tumbled across the grass, screaming and shouting in happiness.

A messenger ran to me, in the middle of the game. I stopped running. Ralph caught my eye and I shook it, telling him not to worry.

"My Lord," he gasped.

"What," I asked now worried. He couldn't speak, still gasping for air.

"Breathe," I said, trying to be patient, but the tone still conveyed irritation. He opened his mouth to speak, what it wasn't needed anymore, I could see what he was to say.

Soldiers began to appear on the horizon on fast horses, galloping closer.

"Soldiers are advancing on us," the messenger finally said, but I had already turned around as was shouting orders. The game had quickly stooped.

"Fredrick," I yelled. He turned, using his admirable sight to understand the flags.

"It's the king's men," he yelled back. Quickly processing that, I turned around.

"You three, get the children back into their camps, you five, keep guard of their encampments." I turned around again.

"Charlette, get the armoury ready." My hands were enclasped on my hilt the whole time, the children had moved away. Orderly and quick. But the army horses came faster, I had turned for a moment to talk order another two soldiers when two rough hands pinned me down to the floor.

"Get your hands of me," I yelled, "I am the son of Walter Acosta, heir to the duke ship of Normandy and Hereford, betrothed to the king's daughter." I heard a woman's voice commanding to let go. The hands dropped off me.

"Leave my men alone," I spit on the soldier who had held me. Another order was issued but not before a splitting scream sounded from the armour room. I whipped around for the noise forced me to do so but instead of seeing who was attacked, they landed on a woman.

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