-Leonardo perspective
The war granted us a pause, and during that time Mary grew. Not in age, but in knowledge.
Since I adopted her as my protégé, her greatest challenge was the language barrier. At first, our communication relied solely on my ability to speak Old British English. But in France, where everything was orders, strategies, and prayers to God in a language she didn't understand, Mary was trapped in silence.
I took it upon myself to change that.
I taught her to speak French with techniques I remembered from my own language learning: constant repetition, association with images and sounds, and daily conversations where I would speak to her in French and she had to respond, even if it was with clumsy words.
—"Je… veux… de l'eau…" —she murmured one day, frowning, struggling to pronounce it correctly.
I smiled and handed her a glass of water.
—"Good, but say it with more confidence. You don't want to sound like a peasant begging for alms, but a lady with dignity."
She puffed up her cheeks and repeated more firmly:
—"Je veux de l'eau."
—"Much better."
In a month, Mary could already understand basic commands, ask questions, and hold simple conversations. The most challenging part was teaching her to write.
Her writing in English was already poor—a product of her limited education—and medieval French grammar didn't make things easier. The first time she tried to write "Bonjour," she ended up writing something that looked like "Bonjuae."
—"Why are the letters in French so strange?" —she complained, putting down the quill in frustration.
—"Because the French are strange."
—"Does that include Lady Joan?"
—"…With some exceptions."
Things in the camp remained calm since the last battle at Vailly, where my strategy proved key to our victory. The English hadn't dared to launch another direct attack, giving us time to resupply and reorganize. During this time of calm, my interactions with Joan changed.
At first, her way of talking to me was… peculiar. She called me her "property" with an unsettling naturalness, as if it were a simple formality instead of a terrifying concept. But now, after everything that had happened, our conversations were different.
She no longer saw me just as a tool. We spoke as colleagues, as strategists discussing war, but also as people who enjoyed each other's company.
—"I'm surprised by how dedicated you are to Mary."
—"I don't know if I'd call it dedication or simply lack of options. If I leave her alone, she would cling to me like a tick until I paid attention to her."
Joan laughed. It wasn't a loud laugh, but one of those soft laughs she rarely let out.
—"That's because she trusts you. It's rare to see someone so attached to another person in the middle of a war."
—"You also have people who follow you with devotion."
—"It's not the same."
Her tone became more thoughtful.
—"They follow me because they believe God guides me. But you… you simply took Mary under your wing without expecting anything in return. It's a different kind of faith."
I looked at her intently. I didn't know what to say.
Perhaps because, for the first time, I realized that I truly enjoyed talking to her.