Leonardo Marchand settled into the tent Joan had assigned him, still not entirely accustomed to his new position. Despite now having influence similar to Gilles de Rais and his own tent, he felt strange with so many privileges. Just weeks ago, he had been chained as a prisoner, viewed with suspicion by the soldiers, and constantly under scrutiny.
He sighed and let himself fall onto the cot. His mind wandered to those days, the hardest moments since his arrival in this time.
And also, to the girl he had met during that period.
**Flashback – Three Weeks Earlier**
The first time he saw her, she was huddled in a corner of the servants' camp, shivering from the cold and hugging her knees. Her dress, made of rough and worn fabric, was stained with mud and water, and her dark blonde hair was tangled and dirty. Her gaze was downcast, lost in the ground.
Leonardo, who was tied to a nearby post after being captured, watched her carefully. There was something in the way her small fingers clutched her arms, something in the way her lower lip trembled that reminded him of loneliness and despair.
Then, without thinking too much, he spoke in Old English:
"Art thou lost, little one?"
The girl startled and looked up, her big blue eyes shining with surprise and a glimmer of hope. It took her a few seconds to process what she had heard before her lips moved slowly.
"Thou speakest mine tongue?"
Leonardo nodded with a faint smile.
"Aye, I do. What is thy name?"
The girl hesitated for a moment before whispering:
"Mary... Mary Stafford."
Leonardo felt a lump in his throat. A name so common and simple, yet heavy with the sadness of an unjust life.
"Well, Mary Stafford, I am Leonardo Marchand. 'Tis an honor to meet thee."
The girl blinked several times, unsure how to react to someone treating her with such kindness. Finally, as if something in her clung to the idea of not being alone, she took a hesitant step toward him.
"Why art thou here?"
Leonardo sighed.
"I am a prisoner."
Mary looked alarmed.
"Dost thou mean... they shall hang thee?"
Leonardo laughed bitterly.
"I surely hope not."
Mary fell silent for a moment before murmuring:
"I am also a prisoner."
Leonardo frowned.
"A prisoner? Nay, thou art but a child."
Mary lowered her gaze.
"I was sold. My father was killed in battle, and my mother... I know not where she is."
Leonardo felt something tighten in his chest.
"Who bought thee?"
"A noble. But he did not want me, so he gave me to the knights to serve."
Leonardo closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a mix of anger and sadness. Mary's story was just one among thousands in a cruel time like this.
"Hast thou eaten?"
Mary shook her head.
"Wait here."
Leonardo turned to one of the soldiers guarding him.
"Hey, can you give me some bread?"
The soldier looked at him mockingly.
"What for, prisoner? Want to fill your belly before you die?"
Leonardo smiled patiently.
"Not for me. For the girl."
The soldier glanced at Mary indifferently but then shrugged and tossed him a piece of hard bread. Leonardo caught it with his bound hands and offered it to the girl.
"Eat."
Mary took the bread with both hands and looked at it as if it were a treasure.
"Thank thee... Sir Marchand."
Leonardo smiled warmly.
"I am no sir, Mary. Just a man who dislikes seeing a child suffer."
From that day on, Mary began to approach him more and more. Even though Leonardo remained a prisoner, the girl sought every opportunity to talk to him, to learn from him, to listen to his stories.
The nights were especially hard for her. Many times, he found her crying in the dark, sobbing silently so no one would hear. On those occasions, Leonardo whispered words of comfort, told her stories of kings and knights, and when she couldn't sleep, he covered her with his own cloak.
**End of Flashback**
Leonardo smiled nostalgically. It had been difficult for him, a solitary man, to get used to the idea of someone depending on him, but over time, Mary had become more than just a lost girl in the war.
She had become his daughter.
That's why, when he had the chance, he didn't hesitate to beg Joan of Arc to assign her as his personal servant.
"Joan, please. I don't want her to keep being mistreated. She's just a child..."
Joan looked at him seriously.
"Marchand, do you realize how much you're asking of me?"
Leonardo nodded.
"I know. But... she has no one. And I..." He paused for a moment before sighing. "I can't leave her alone."
Joan observed the sincere desperation in his eyes and, after a long silence, sighed.
"Very well. The girl will be your servant. But I expect you not to ask for more favors for a while."
Leonardo smiled gratefully.
"Thank you, Joan."
That night, when he gave Mary the news, the girl clung to him with all her strength, her small arms wrapping around his waist.
"Truly?"
Leonardo stroked her head tenderly.
"Truly."
Mary sobbed against his chest, and for the first time in a long while, Leonardo felt he had done something truly important.
He had saved a soul.
-----
(My Inexperience in Child Rearing)
-Few days after with Mary
-Leonardo perspective
Being a strategist in war is one thing. Raising a child is something else entirely.
I can't say I was prepared for this. There are no battle treatises or tactical manuals that teach you how to be a father. A man can study the art of war his entire life and still lose a battle because the enemy was unpredictable. And in my case, the enemy was a seven-year-old girl with too much energy, an iron will, and a dependence on me that grew day by day.
Mary followed me everywhere. It didn't matter if it was day or night, if I was eating, training, or planning strategies with Joan and the others. If I tried to separate from her even for a moment, I was met with a reproachful look or, worse, teary eyes that broke my heart.
—"I don't want to be alone!" —she insisted, clinging to my cloak as if letting go meant losing me forever.
I understood. Her father died in the war, her mother disappeared, and she was sold as if she had no value. But dear God... did she have to be so stubborn?
The situation became even more complicated when she became jealous. Not in a capricious or childish way, but with an extreme sense of territoriality. If any knight spent too much time with me, if someone dared to ask me for something that required my concentration, there she was, frowning and clenching her fists as if they were stealing her most precious possession.
—"Sir Marchand is mine!" —she exclaimed once in the middle of a discussion with Gilles de Rais.
I almost choked on the wine I was drinking. Gilles, on the other hand, burst out laughing.
—"Well, Leonardo! It seems you have been claimed."
The bastard was having fun.
—"Mary, you can't say those things."
She puffed up her cheeks.
—"But it's true."
Gilles patted me on the back.
—"I must admit, Marchand. I doubted you before, but seeing you here, dealing with a child and a war at the same time, is proof enough that you're more valuable than I thought."
That was quite a change. When we first met, he looked at me like I was a vermin that needed to be crushed. Now he treated me with a respect he rarely granted others. I don't know if it was because I had proven my worth in strategy or because he simply enjoyed seeing me suffer with my "new daughter."
Mary, for her part, found a maternal figure in Joan. It wasn't something I expected, but it happened naturally.
We spent so much time with Joan in strategic meetings that, little by little, the girl began to see her differently. At first, it was simple admiration, but over time she started following her just like she did with me.
—"Lady Joan... what will I do when I grow up?"
The Maid of Orleans stroked her head with a smile.
—"You will be a strong woman, Mary."
—"Like you?"
—"If God wills."
It was curious. With me, she was capricious and demanding. With Joan, she showed respect and obedience. I knew that, in a way, she saw her as a mother. Not replacing the one she lost, but as a guide, an image of what she wanted to be.
I... I was simply her refuge.
My life became chaos. I couldn't move without Mary being by my side. I had no free time. I couldn't rest because there was always something to attend to: she was hungry, she was cold, she was scared, she was curious. And when it wasn't her, it was war strategies, meetings, constant discussions on how to face the enemy.
There were nights when I would lie staring at the ceiling of my tent, wondering how in the world I had gotten to this point. I had no space for myself.
But every time I saw Mary asleep, hugging my cloak as if it were her greatest treasure, every time I heard her laughter in the midst of war, I knew that, somehow, this was also a victory.