Clock work

ClockWork

The Hundred years war had only three years left. “The year of our Lord, 1450, France is close to Liberation the youth of our nation could taste it but I’m worried. The English have a history of erratic movements we can only expect that they do something unpredictable.” Félicien des Frieze closed his diary and lay back on his bunk. Des Frieze and his friend Odon had recently been grafted into the French army under General Baudoin. Baudoin was a tall and equally muscular man charged with the mantle of general and mentor to new recruits. The titles like mentor and general were constantly stroked feathers in his cap, the knightly great helm that could barely fit on his proud swollen head. To add to his pride he wielded the great axe, Aegagon given to him by King Charles as a reward for his bravery in the siege of Orleans. Every time he told his students about how he supposedly saved the lives of La Hire and Joan the maid he made them gaze upon Aegagon’s gold highlights and silver engraves then he would tell them how it was unearthed from an unmarked tomb of one of the Frankish kings of their past. He had no friends he only trusted the axe. He had a deep faith in it and thought it made him invincible. “Never has mother earth produced an enemy that could withstand Aegagon!”  Félicien and Odon would mouth his words each time he boasted. Those two were friends from childhood onward like two sides of a coin they were as close as they were opposite. Odon was bulky and muscular his blonde hair was cut short and brushed over his left brow he was good at following orders and could see a great future in the military. Félicien on the other hand was tall and thin. He was well built but not buff. His long, silky red hair dropped to his shoulders. He kept a slight beard and had bushy eyebrows closely fringing wild light brown eyes. Félicien had a problem with orders. He tried to do what he was told but when he succeeded at that he did it so clumsily that it was pointless. He had a series of fires, crashes, collisions and general blunders on his record all the way from training to the last five battles he fought in.

   Félicien and Odon were staying at the barracks of the Tourelles, the main fortress on the edge of Orleans. After Joan of arc and her men broke up the siege of Orleans it was not likely they would risk such a loss again but Orleans was a key city on the French border and it was always guarded. The fortress in itself was visibly old the outer walls were covered in moss the once pale stones were now grey with the soot of gunpowder and cannon fire. Baudoin of course had his quarters upgraded his soldiers were allowed to sleep in the leaking barracks. Odon constantly reminded   Félicien that their job was to fight not complain. The day so far had gone quite as normal. Baudoin was bombarding the new soldiers with drills. Carrying buckets of water up inclines on both shoulders. The summer heat was intense to the point of excruciation. Some of the men started to hear their skin sizzle. Félicien was running up the incline struggling and spilling water everywhere Baudoin just saw it fit to jeer at him for millionth time, “Behold, students. This is exactly what I’ve been speaking of. This boy sees it fit to endanger all of your lives with his clumsiness.” He turned to Félicien “How exactly did you happen to be in the king’s ranks? Oh that’s right your friend’s father is a General.” Odon flinched. He let all this time pass letting Félicien believe he was grafted based on performance. In fact Odon’s Father had instructed authorities to ignore Félicien’s performance, good or bad and draft him anyway. Félicien was confused but he was so impulsive he replied “Like you should speak.” He got Baudoin’s attention, “I heard your mother called in a favour.” Before the words had time to sink into everyone’s ears Baudoin rushed him and boxed him in the jaw leaving a fist mark visible through his beard.

“Next battle we fight, whelp consider yourself an Englishman cause that’s what I’ll be doing.” he whispered in his ear. “Guard to the stockade with this filth!”  He shouted. Just then the gates opened and a bloody horse rode in. On its back a man in bloody French rags was slumped, leaning on its neck. The men in the court stopped the horse and requested water for the injured man. Félicien and the Guards stared in intent. He seemed to be mauled. “What’s going on” Baudoin shouted as he proudly strutted over “Speak man!” he demanded further.

“Goode-Heart and the king,” he managed.

“What? That’s more than three thousand men!” Said one of the Guards as they dropped Félicien on the ground

“No not men” the battered soldier replied his voice trembled with fright “They were huge, giant, made of metal, they breathe fire!”

“Stow your rambling, man. How far away is Goode-Heart?” Baudoin pressed.

“Three days. I rode ahead Three days.” The soldier replied

“Right!” shouted Baudoin. “We have less than three days to make this shack a fort again. Send a message to the city; tell them we need weapons and men.”

“Sir” one of the officers in charge beckoned, “Maybe we should ride into the city, like Joan did to stir up confidence and support.”

“Joan of arc was a deluded child who was killed by a clergyman of all people. If she were so great she would have Killed Goode-Heart when she had the chance.”  Baudoin scoffed “No one leaves their post or they deal with me.” Félicien glared at him. How dare he insult the memory of Joan the maid who saved France. Besides Goode-Heart was nothing at that time. The king of England made him a baron after the siege of Orleans. The fact was that Baudoin only saw the glory he would have if he defeated both the king and the most notorious Lord of the English court. Odon walked over to his friend on the floor “let me help you up” he offered “I’m sorry I should not have intervened in your grafting”

“It’s alright Odon” Félicien managed as he rose, “I know I’m not hero’s material and Baudoin always hated me. No love lost, he’s fortunate I was not armed.”

“You’re fortunate you were not armed.” Odon corrected “You should stay inside for the next battle. You really insulted him and he is not above killing his own men. What is more He’s not going to train you or give you any weapons.”

“I’ll hold my own; I’ll figure something out.” Félicien assured.

The next three days were Hectic. The heat didn’t matter neither did Baudoin’s shouting useless repetitive orders. All everyone was concerned with was getting the Tourelles battle ready. They handed out hand cannons, swords, arbalests, pikes and shields. They managed to install small cannons on all the forward archer towers. If Baudoin was good at all he was good at putting scarce resources to work. Félicien stayed at the barracks. He trained and practised on his own. He reasoned that if Baudoin wanted him dead he would not mind if he got himself killed by using old weapons he found at the barracks. While rummaging through the weapons cache he managed to find a hand cannon and a shield. Then to his surprise he found one of Joan of arc’s standard lances, a double sided hafted blade with the baron flag of Joan of arc fixed to it. He cleaned his sword and his standard man at arms armour. He was as ready as he could ever be. “I’m ready for this; I’ve fought before” he tried to assure himself.

The day for the supposed invasion had arrived. The entire fortress was on full alert all heads were pointing westward the sun rising behind them. They were confident. The Rio Loira, the massive water duct of the Orleans lined the city. The bulwark behind them provided an easy retreat into Orleans; still there was an uneasiness that settled over everyone. The quiet still of the morning was getting into Odon’s head the singing birds, deer in the fields, the warm wind and his eyes began to drop. Then all the sentries blew their horns at once. The sight of what was coming toward them however could not be summed up in the simple blowing of a horn. The entire fort hummed in the prayers of nervous men. On horseback the King of England, Henry the sixth rode alongside his main general, Zander Goode-Heart. Behind them, their cavalier footmen and the king’s personal favourite longbow men marched in impeccable form. The French men were still in awe. Marching beside the army were the Giants the Scout spoke of. Three giant suits of armour fitted from wood and iron driven by steam Engines eating coal and breathing fire; the first of their kind in Europe. “Dark magic!” a soldier gasped

“No such thing!” Baudoin scoffed as he drew Aegagon from its straps, “It’s just another fancy English trick. Prepare the cannon for fire.” From the very beginning Baudoin set his eyes on the King. Surely killing the king would put him in the great legends. Then the cannon fire began. The English cannon were much heavier but did very little damage to the fort’s buttress walls. The sentry cannon on the fort were all aimed at the giant contraptions but the shots just bounced off their metal torsos. From the beginning of the siege Félicien got himself outside. He did not take a station at the walls for fear Baudoin would kill him then and there. Instead he stayed at the court yard with Odon and the rest of the mobile infantry. The machines were getting closer. They were now at the edge of the walls being used by the English as siege towers to load troops onto the walls longbow men stood on their shoulders picking their targets; mainly the arbalests and hand cannoniers as a way to laud it over them “our archers are better.” The walls very soon became flooded with English and Welsh men. “I’m going to help them.” Félicien suggested to Odon. Baudoin looked too busy to care about him. He still managed to strike a pose every time he knocked down an enemy. Odon followed his friend, just in case. Wielding the hafted blade in one hand Félicien very quickly began slaying the English soldiers. Convincingly, he and Odon reduced the English numbers on the wall increasing the French influence of the frontline. Then the wildcard, the machines, with metal hands began to tear the wall apart. Félicien was thrown onto one of the machine’s shoulders. He directed all his focus on keeping his balance. For a while he forgot he was clumsy, however just because he forgot did not mean it was not so. Still wielding the hafted blade every time he wobbled he knocked down an enemy archer from their post. This gave the previously pinned downed arbalests the freedom to aim and pick targets from among the English footmen on the wall. His clumsiness in this case served well. The wall was cleared of English men and the French started to cheer “Des Frieze!” he didn’t notice his name being called he was still trying to avoid falling. Alas it happened anyway he fell from the machine’s shoulders and wedged his lance in a chink in its armour. The metal plating however gave way and he fell taking the whole chest plate with him. The machine’s inner workings were now exposed. One of the arbalests thought out loud “It looks like…clockwork.”

“It’ll make a good pin cushion!” exclaimed another. They set their bolts on fire and exclaimed at once “Death! By! Bolt!” simultaneously firing at whichever piece looked the most important to them. Some aimed for the largest gears others for the English engineer desperately pulling levers and draw strings. The entire ‘clockwork’ as it was dubbed by the soldiers exploded into metallic body parts and coal cinders. Odon whipped up the men to cheer again “Des Frieze, Des Frieze!” but he did not hear them he was unconscious under the metal chest plate. The celebrations were short lived the wall now had a wide gap in it and the English cavalry charge was on. The mobile infantry had their work cut out for them. The archers stationed on the walls provided enough support to give the enemy horsemen a hard time. Things changed when the other two machines got there they simply trudged through the walls sending boulders flying. They carved a path of destruction right to the central command post of the fort. The tides did not just turn, they completely capsized.

    Félicien woke up to chaos the kings men were already in the fort the bodies of soldiers of both sides were strewn on the court he picked up his lance and shield just in time to deflect and defeat a charging English soldier. He ran to back of the fort where Odon and some commanders were holding a standoff at the bridge of the Rio Loira “They will not get into Orleans!” a commander prompted. They began to push forward but could not pass the centre where Goode-Heart stood. The old veteran swung his two handed sword madly yet with the precision to cleave limbs at their joints. He laughed and bellowed standing on a pile of many a French man’s body. He was so crazy there were maybe an unfortunate English man or two in that mix. The advance stopped and was replaced with arrow and cannon fire into the English crowd. Félicien stepped forward the sight of Goode-Heart was fearsome. He stared the French boy in the face with one grey eye on green the blood of the battle charge stained his once white beard and brows red. Any normal person would run. The thought went to Félicien’s head and he scoffed at it, “Normal is too main stream.” He charged the towering Welshman couching his lance and screaming like a Viking. Just to be side stepped and have his lance broken by the heavy sword. He wasted no time he hoisted his Shield and drew his b*****d sword, three feet of tempered steel which was also broken within a few parries. Goode-Heart swung at him. He blocked it with his shield but the force and weight of the sword knocked him down. Goode-Heart raised his sword the thought of dismembering this French runt made him giddy and he betrayed a crooked smile. Just then he began to gasp. He clutched his chest he was having a heart attack. His face turned blue then fearsome old Good-Heart died of cardiac arrest. Félicien was confused. Right when the large man fell on him he grabbed the decorated half of the broken lance and hoisted it over his body. What his comrades saw was him impaling an English war hero with Joan of arc’s standard.

  Baudoin was not with his men he and a few other glory hogs went behind enemy lines to try to kill the king. King Henry of England prided himself on having the best swordsmanship teachers in Europe, thus, it was understandable why Baudoin was the last one left of those glory hogs. They fought close to edge of the wall climbing a stair case to the sentry towers. Aegagon’s hardened steal edge eventually broke the blade of the king’s sword. Coincidentally the blast of a cannon hit the wall and both men fell Baudoin was separate with his beloved axe. The king got to his feet first and heaved Aegagon. Baudoin now on his feet saw his death to be imminent. King Henry struck. The axe cleaved its way into his torso the edge being made one with his chest. Henry then kicked him over the edge and let him fall into the bank of the Rio Loira his body sank into the mire. The axe unearthed and given to him by a king was given to him by a king and buried once again.

  Félicien and Odon were able to rally the soldiers and repel the invasion. They used ropes and chains to force the last two machines into a collision with each other which killed the engineers inside. King Henry after seeing this cut his losses and retreated. The roar of the soldiers could be heard all the way across the river “Des Frieze! Des Frieze!” and Odon old everyone he met how a clumsy French runt became a hero by being in the right place at the right time; just like clockwork.

As it turned out, the French invasion on Burgundy lead to the destruction of all the research leading to steam engine technology. What is more the church declared the use of burning coal to be evil and of black arcane origins and the technology lost popularity within the year. It would be another four hundred years before steam engines were reinvented. 

Author's Note

this was home work we were supposed to include examples of situational and dramatic irony mine was in the man killed with his own weapon Goode-Heart dying of a heart attack and the clown being the hero because of where he was standing also we were supposed to properly develop the facets of a short story plot setting characters ect.

Reviews

[James E. Peterson]

Your terrific knowledge of the times you were writing about has crafted this piece into a beautiful masterpiece of irony, war and history. I for one need practice in the area of prose. Well done!

[Deron Alexis]

thanks man XD

[Sarah Tabuso]

This is an evocative and promising piece. I really enjoyed it.

[Deron Alexis]

thanks for reading I'm glad you liked it XD

[Silhouette]

Holy jeeze, this is an awesome piece. I agree with gombeggar, the dialogue's super close to the timframe. Well done =)

[Deron Alexis]

thanks for reading XD

[Silhouette]

Anytime =)

[Tricia O'Brien]

wow

[Deron Alexis]

hmm thanks

[gombeggar]

i think the dialogue was very close to the timeframe, or seems so...nicely done all in all

[Deron Alexis]

thanks man