December 15 - War is Coming
This is the first part of a two-part series. The second will be published on December 22.
Sancerre, December 1572
The walls of Sancerre were cold that morning, a bitter chill cutting through Pierre's armour. It felt nice pushing his chest against the stone wall, its fissures and cracks offering protection from the howling wind otherwise piercing his armour and clothes like arrows. He gazed out over the snow-covered landscape, his breath visible in the frosty air. The village, nestled atop a hill, offered a majestic, strategically important, view over the valley. Pierre could see peasants in the fields, taking their goods to market in the nearby hamlets, and their animals grazing. It was serene, but he knew it wouldn’t last. The royal army was marching.
He leaned forward over the edge of the wall and saw a group of huddled refugees arriving at the gates . He counted about a dozen men and women and a few children. It was the second group that week. His mind had been echoing with sorrow, compassion and anger since news of the St. Bartholomew's Day massacre had reached the south. It had been difficult for protestants in Paris ever since Admiral Coligny had been welcomed back to court a year earlier. The decision to bring Huguenots back to the court had been a risky move by the queen mother Catherine de Medici and her son King Charles IX. Thinking that it would strengthen the treaty of Paris St. Germain, the queen mother had hoped to bring an end to the religious conflicts. It had the opposite effect, angering the Catholics, and threatening renewed fighting. Many prominent Catholics saw it as an act of desperation, and even worse, an act of acquiescence. The royal military campaigns against Protestants in the south west had been a disaster, effectively ceding control of this region to the Huguenots. And when Marshal Cossé's superior force had failed to beat Coligny at Beaune, the court in Paris feared a siege on the capital, and had agreed to a new peace treaty. The queen mother's gambit to marry her daugther Magaret of Valois to the protestant prince Henry of Navarre had been a step too far. The arrival of Navarre in the capital had caused the red mist to the descend on the citizens, producing the fateful days earlier that summer.
Pierre's thoughts were filled with solemn prayers for his fellow Protestants, seeking solace and strength in the face of an impending storm. But he had doubts too. How would Sancerre feed the refugees, and those who would inevitably come? He firmed his grip on his spear, and looked to the sky just as the sun emerged from behind a cloud. He closed his eyes.
“God, give me strength,” he whispered to herself. “Give me strength to defend the town.”
“Are you day-dreaming again.” A deep voice said, interrupting his prayer.
His captain, Florian, was standing next to him. He was a giant of a man, with a big beard and bulky features.
"Just praying, captain", Pierre said.
"Ah yes, prayer. We'll all be doing a lot of that in the next couple of months I think", the captain replied.
"War is coming."