As I carefully picked my way down the dirt path leading to our small home, fat raindrops began to splatter on my hair and dot my blue woolen dress like droplets of wet ink. I glanced nervously over my shoulder, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The next troop of Germans was due any day, and I wanted to be safe at home when they arrived. Billowing thunder clouds loomed above me. “Papa!” I yelled, “You need to thatch the roof again!” The straw had become droopy, and holes were beginning to show through. I sighed. We would have wet heads tonight.
I plodded inside and coughed as the smoke from the unattended cooking fire washed over me. As usual, Maman was out visiting Jean’s grave, and would not be back until nearly sundown.  Although the loss of a first son would be a hardship for anyone, it hit Maman worse than most. She never recovered from his death in an outbreak of the plague ten years ago. Even though the aroma of simmering oats was faint, it still awakened a great beast inside me. My feet carried me over to the fire to begin the monotonous task of preparing our evening pottage, and the clucking of our chickens faded to a dull hum. I tucked my flaxen braids back on top of my head and retied my favorite azure hair ribbons so that they would not fall into our food.
When Papa and Denise arrived for supper, Maman bustled in and proceeded to order us all about. As if she had done anything to help! We started eating, and Papa gave us the day’s news. “Word is that some folk are going around attacking the lords’ keeps. They’re said to be protesting how them nobles’ve sat back and watched while band after band of mercenaries have come through, destroying our homes and fields. I don’t disagree, but mighty foolish folk they are. Don’t they know what is coming to them if they mess with our lords?”
“But Papa,” I butted in, “Guillaume says that if we do nothing they will only continue to walk all over us.” 
“What does he know? That boy is as headstrong and reckless as the rest of them. I’ve told you time and time again to stay away from him!” I clamped my mouth shut. Guillaume had told me at dinner yesterday that he planned to go join the uprising as soon as he could, and he wished for me to come with him. He was due to come round right after supper, and we would present our plans to my parents together. If only they would see the reason! We were going to go do something instead of waiting here for something to happen to us.
I fidgeted with my knife, eager for supper to be over so that I could see Guillaume. Suddenly there was a dull knocking, and I jumped up to usher in my precious love.
A scowl settled on Papa’s face when he glimpsed Guillaume’s form in the doorway. My heart fluttered at the sight of his strong jaw and fair hair, pulled back with a ruddy ribbon. A dun tunic was belted with a leather cord over his dusty trousers. Maman ushered Denise off to bed at the other end of the room, before coming back and meekly sitting beside Papa. Guillaume began to explain that he wished to leave and join the rebellion, ignoring my frantic eye-flicks toward Papa’s simmering face.
“What has this got to do with us?” Papa cut in. “Why don’t you up and leave your family to starve, and go away!”
Bluntly, Guillaume continued, “I deeply desire for Isabeau to join me, and she has agreed, with your consent-”
“I shall approve of no such ludicrousness!” Papa bellowed. “My daughter will not go off to, to...join some heathen band of rebels! And that is final!”
“Papa!” I cried, trying to hold back tears, “I love Guillaume and I’m going with him, whether you like it or not!”
“Then get out!”

Guillaume and I approached the nearest town where a party of rebels was established. Columns of smoke from people’s cooking fires rose into the clear blue sky. Eventually Papa would calm down enough to regret his hasty words, but his tempers could last for days, leaving him in a foul mood, and us skittering around like cowed barn mice. As we reached the town green, we came upon a hearty meeting of people much like ourselves, poor, but proud. Guillaume listened intently, acknowledging the speaker’s claims with a chorus that soon spread around the gathering. “Il a raison! He is right!” I, meanwhile, was dozing on his shoulder, too exhausted to pay much attention to the speech. Suddenly, my headrest was jerked out from under me. I lurched to standing as Guillaume pushed to the front of the crowd.
“It is the lords’ right and responsibility to protect the people. They have not done so.”
“Il a raison! Il a raison!” the crowd cheered.
“Mercenaries plunder our land, burn our fields, and murder our friends and family. What have the nobles done? Rien! Nothing! They sit inside their stone fortresses and watch while our lives are ruined.”
“Il a raison! Il a raison!”
“We must fight back! Threaten the nobles so they will know how we feel every day. We must force them to show us the protection we deserve.”
“Il a raison! Il a raison!” The audience was becoming frenzied now, chanting with roaring volume, and I found myself swept along with their energy.
“So I say, fie on the lords.” Guillaume spat vehemently, and pointed at the small splotch of moisture. “That is them! We are mighty together! Stand with me now, and shame, shame on any man that would stand in the way of the nobles’ destruction!”
“Il a raison! He is right! Il a raison!”
After realizing that the speech was finished, the congregated peoples slowly dispersed back to their homes and places of rest. The murmur of excited chatter surrounded me as I fought my way over to Guillaume. He was speaking with the leaders of the movement, who were commending him on his stirring address. When I reached them, the chief invited us to walk with him. Bernart, as he was called, would aspire for Guillaume to become a member of their council. They wished to attack Brie, where many of the noble ladies and children were holed up. “We should rush in, overwhelm them, and then hold the pretties for ransom until their dear husbands agree to give us what we want.” Bernart’s right hand man Dreue grinned toothily. A shudder shot down my back, and an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. I held Guillaume’s hand tightly in my own.
“When do you wish to march?” Guillaume inquired.
“In a fortnight.” Bernart replied. He nodded, and strode off briskly, whistling to himself. We had been dismissed. Dreue ran to catch up, standing tall for a second before slouching back into submission.
“I guess the matter’s settled then,” I concluded. Guillaume affirmed his agreement with a slight dip of the chin, but his thoughts were elsewhere. “What’s bothering you?” I asked.
“What? Oh, nothing. I am just thinking. So much to be done…” The distant look remained on Guillaume’s face.
“Hmmph,” I declared, dissatisfied with his response. “Come on, let’s go eat.” I started walking over to the town inn, pulling him along by the arm. Once inside, Guillaume haggled for a bed and an evening meal.
“Five francs each,” the innkeeper demanded brusquely.
“That’s outrageous!” Guillaume exclaimed. “I will pay only six francs for the both of us.”
“I will take eight francs and not a cent less,” he countered.
“Fine! Eight francs it is, but breakfast is included.” My dear Guillaume was determined to make the most of our few coins.
“Deal!” The innkeeper shook Guillaume’s hand, and we left the bar counter to sit at a low wooden table next to the fire. The familiar crackling and popping was soothing in my ears, reminding me of home. A maid brought us warm bowls of stew, a scrumptious delight that whetted my appetite. We so rarely ate meat at home, so this was a real treat.
I dug in, scooping the hot broth into my mouth with a piece of brown maslin bread. The steaming chunks of potato fell into a creamy paste in my mouth. I popped succulent green peas, letting their sweet flavor spread across my tongue. Too soon, the bowl was empty, and my stomach pleasantly full.
Guillaume helped me up the stairs, preventing my feet from stumbling with fatigue. He led me to our room, and I fell into bed, so tired that it would not have mattered if the bed was made of rocks. Instantly, sleep’s sweet embrace carried me aloft.

Pitchforks clanked in a cacophony of war, breaking up the cool morning stillness. It was filled with the shouts of men saying goodbye. I shifted from one foot to the other, impatient to be kept waiting. Finally, a bugle blared, and the chaotic line began to move forward.
Guillaume and I were in the middle of the pack, and the road underfoot sent clouds of dust into the air. Like many around us, we were often spluttering and choking as we fought to breathe.
At noon time, a halt was declared, and everyone given a short break to gulp down their meager dinner of dry bread and a bit of cheese. Our small piece was edged with a waxy maroon rind, which Guillaume carefully peeled off. He then broke our loaf in half and handed one half to me. “One for me, one for you,” Guillaume said, “Or perhaps two for me and none for you.” He reached for my piece and I quickly moved my hand out of his reach.
“Non, non, non. What kind of man takes more for himself before feeding his belle?” I shook my finger at him in a mock scolding manner, prompting both of us to burst into laughter.
Just as dusk was falling, a shout rang out from the front of the column. “Look!” they cried jubilantly, “I can spot Brie just over there.” I could not even hope of seeing anything because there were so many tall men in front of us, all craning their necks to catch a glimpse of our destination.
“Order, order!” Bernart yelled. The company’s attention quickly snapped back to our leader, and he continued in a calmer tone. “We shall camp here tonight, and attack early on the ‘morrow.”
“What is to be our plan?” someone called.
“Essentially,” Bernart explained, “we shall encircle the inner marketplace, and then storm inside to quickly take their stronghold. Now, all of you get a good sleep. I will be organizing a watch.”
Guillaume spread out our bedrolls, and ushered me over. “Bonne nuit,” he said softly, kissing me gently on the forehead. He then laid himself down and began to snore almost immediately.
“Bonne nuit,” I whispered to myself. I stared up at the stars. Their distant twinkle emphasized how small and insignificant we were. Yet, hope would always spring eternal, and we still had the power to cause change. I affirmed my conclusion with a quick nod, and began to drift off to sleep. What would tomorrow bring?

My eyes sprung open as the sun peeked the top of its fiery head over the horizon, the farmer girl in me ready to go work in the fields. All around me, men rose silently and swiftly packed their belongings, grabbing sharpened farm tools to use as weapons in the coming battle. Guillaume had already left to meet with Bernart, as he would be leading a band of men.
Quietly, Bernart divided the men into companies, assigning them to different commanders. We had camped behind a rise, and Bernart had forbidden any fires the night before in hopes of surprising the town watch. I wasn’t convinced though. Really, a whole horde of farmers tromping down a road, leaving a dust cloud many leagues long behind them. The watch had probably known we were coming before we could even spot Brie!
Anyhow, I, having been overlooked, ran over to Guillaume just as the company in front marched over the hill and onto the small plain between us and the city. Someone thrust a scythe into my hand, and I wiped sweaty palms on my dingy dress to steady my grasp. A thick layer of ashy dust coated the wool. Our group followed behind, doing our best to tread in silence to keep the element of surprise. I felt Guillaume keep glancing over at me as if to make sure I was still there.
As I passed the first shops and houses, an itch formed at the back of my mind. Simple wooden storefronts lined the street, their wares set up neatly behind counters, interspersed with small homes. “Something doesn’t feel quite right,” I muttered to Guillaume.
“Everything is fine; do not worry. You are simply nervous,” he reassured, but wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close to his side.
All the shutters remained closed, and a deathly quiet filled the air, suffocating our every movement. I realized what had occurred just as a bugle sounded. The townspeople had been warned of our arrival!
Our pace increased as all pretense of secrecy was thrown aside. Men swarmed forward, and the careful ranks became muddled into one big throng. I rounded a bend, and great oak gates appeared in front of me. A glinting moat flowed out from either side of a narrow bridge that led over to the gates like a great slithering snake. Guillaume and his troops broke off to the right, and I made an attempt to follow, but was cut off helplessly as another surge of men jostled their way across my intended path. By the time they had settled and I could push my way through, Guillaume had gone.
Suddenly feeling very vulnerable, I studied the scene before me. Only ten or so men could stand abreast on the bridge at once, greatly reducing our ability to charge the gate. None of the leaders had considered how to batter through, so the men were left to yelling and shaking their fists vehemently.
The sun now shone hot upon us, a lion roaring fierce. The press of rank bodies made me shrink nervously. The vengeful cries of men pounded in my ears from all directions. Pitchforks, scythes, clubs, and other farm tools were brandished in the air by unwavering hands. No one stepped up to reorganize the mob, and I began to doubt my intentions. I started to back away from the gates, dropping my scythe onto the ground.
The bellowing only grew as I squeezed through the gaps and ducked under elbows in an effort to reach the back of the crowd. The sinking feeling in my stomach only intensified until I was almost running, dashing and twirling in a frantic dance of distress. Suddenly, I caught a flicker of movement in the upper corner of my vision and turned to look back. The gates swung open, and ranks of knights poured out. As if in a nightmare, they advanced on the first row of farmers, who cowered and tried to scramble back.
Then a glare from their shining silver armor blinded me for a moment, and the first screams pierced the air.
The world dissolved into chaos. Men frenzied with terror shoved their way through crowd with a maniacal disregard for those around them. I had to fight to stay afloat as those flailing arms surrounding me struck my body. When I could not resist a glance behind me, my stomach lurched with the sight of the knights mowing down those souls unlucky enough to be in the rear like helpless stalks of wheat. Their swords flashed with a grim splendor, and crimson blood spurted into the air. I wrenched my head back around, forcing myself to run faster. I passed men on the ground, ones who had tripped and fallen. Everyone rushed right over them, trampling them into the hard, unforgiving dirt, and their screams of agony rang in my ears.
A deserted alley appeared beside me. I sprinted down it, shouldering through the fringes of the crowd. It led to the edge of Brie, and even after leaving the town I kept running as fast as I could. My lungs burned, but if I was to survive I had to put as much distance between me and the menacing knights as possible. This knowledge would send another surge of energy into my limbs if ever my pace began to falter.
Finally, as the blazing afternoon sun began to sink, I halted in the shadow of a stunted knoll. Straggly tufts of grass grew sparsely on its surface. I keeled over and vomited, and continued to retch until there was nothing left. My legs gave out and I fell limply to the ground. I lay there, my breath coming first in short gasps and then evening out to become long and deep.
As I began to relax, the reality of my situation sank in. I had almost died today. Any food or money Guillaume had once possessed was likely gone now. Guillaume! My hands clenched in fear. The last I had seen he was rounding the bend to attack the other gate. I prayed fervently. Please let him be safe. In my mind’s-eye, I saw Guillaume cut down by a sweep of a knight’s blade and shuddered.
I stood up and carefully peeked over the top of the rise. In the distance, carrion birds circled hungrily. As I watched, one dove down and began feasting on a mutilated carcass. The sight turned my stomach, and I quickly averted my eyes. Feeling quite faint, I sat down and resolved to spend the night there, in relative safety. I lay down on the stony earth, hungry and exhausted now that my desperate energy had dissipated. I slept within moments.

I woke early, a short time after first light. My joints bent jerkily, with a stiff quality to them. I had tossed and turned restlessly with pebbles digging into my back all night. Plus, I was not accustomed to running for extended periods. Muscles I had never known existed ached with every little movement. I was a farm girl, used to labor, but this was unlike anything I had ever experienced.
My next thought was Guillaume. What had become of him? I decided that I must venture into the town in search of information. With that, I started the long slow walk back to Brie. The course I set would eventually put me on the main thoroughfare, where I could blend in with the crowd.
Plenty of people milled about the town square by the time I arrived. The sun was approaching its height, and stalls filled every available corner. Vendors hawked their wares, luring in the passersby. Everything was just a little too normal, with the citizens trying to go about their daily lives with as much haste and privacy as possible.
I was now in the inner market, having passed easily through those gates that we had tried so futilely to gain entrance to yesterday. I slowly walked around, latching on to the conversations of those around me when I heard something interesting like a starving leech. I followed behind an extravagant girl who was mindlessly twittering to the housekeeper beside her, the poor woman helpless to check the barrage of babble. The girl's peacock gown was a rich brocade, and trailed in the air behind her.  I suddenly heard a word that made me blanch. It ricocheted around the inside of my skull and chilled me to the bone. Execution, execution, execution, execution...
I froze there for a second. Oh Guillaume, Guillaume, how I loved you so. What will I do, what will I do without you? I shook my head to banish these gruesome thoughts. It was probably just some common criminal. And anyhow, even if it was a member of our force, Guillaume was one of many. Satisfied with my reasoning, the ice holding me cracked and fell away, allowing me to look around. The two women upon which I had been eavesdropping had long since been enveloped by the multitudes.  Looking around, I caught on to the trail of  four boisterous boys bounding along, laughing and joking, and had to run to keep up. One, who had a slight swagger and was clearly the leader, called out “Aren't you excited for tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” a shorter boy agreed. “We haven't had a proper guillotine in ages.”
“And the afternoon off as a holiday!” the third chimed in.
“Maybe Maman will give us a cent or two for sweets?” the last one, a bit pudgy, added hopefully.
“Silly Pierre. Always thinking with your stomach,” the leader scoffed.
  Tomorrow! It would be tomorrow, a guillotine. At least his death would be quick, not like a hanging. A trio of giggling maids passed by and I followed swiftly. Maids were notorious gossips. The first started chattering to the others in between peals of carefree laughter. “Executions are so distasteful, but at least he'll be nice to look at.”
The second joined in. “And so early in the day means more free time!”
“Well, we will still have to prepare lunch before being freed. It's at noon, not dawn.”
At nightfall I huddled on a street corner. Even though I had kept skulking all afternoon, not a soul had breathed a word who the execution was for. My stomach ached, having received no food at all since breakfast the day before. I had to find something to eat in the morning before attending the execution. Eventually, I worried myself to sleep.

I awoke in the morning with a hunger even greater than that of the previous evening. As I walked towards the square, my eyes widened with the sight of hearty bread loaves and rich meat pies cooling on a window sill. Quietly, I stalked over to them, then snatched one of each and ran. As soon as I had put a bit of distance between me and the bakery, I wolfed down the meat pie, and half of the bread. Then, licking my fingers, I squirreled the rest away for later.
When I reached the town green, a gathering of townspeople was beginning to congregate for the spectacle. The idea of all these people laughing and joking when a man was about to die made me sick, my heavy breakfast churning in my stomach.
A hush blanketed the crowd, and two rusty-uniformed officials brought out a man in shackles. With so many in front of me, I could not see him well, but could discern his slumped posture. He wore the customary chalky shift, giving him a ghostly appearance. I pushed towards the front as the officials escorted him up onto the elevated wooden platform. With a gasp, I recognized his face. It was Guillaume. No spark of passion or anger was left in his eyes, only a weary sadness. My once proud love had been beaten.
A herald came up to the dais and began to read off the crimes Guillaume was convicted of, but I heard nothing. I stared straight ahead like a statue, in shock. The whip crack of curling parchment broke my daze, and I looked up. The officials led Guillaume to the wooden stocks and locked him in so that he could no longer move. Then they ceremoniously placed all four hands on the lever that would release the blade, and, without delay, pulled. The flash of metal flying down, Guillaume’s eyes meeting mine, and then—
I flinched and clenched my eyes tightly shut. I heard the thwack, then a thud, followed by raucous cheers. I took a deep breath, and opened my eyes as I turned around. Nobody paid any attention as I walked away. I continued out the dreadful wooden gates, and down the street. I walked out of Brie. I did not look back.
I felt numb. I had no family or friends to return to. My life had been torn to shreds. I did not know whether to blame him or myself. I was no one.

*               *               *               *               *

I wandered the plains for weeks until the nuns found me. They say I was wild, like a feral animal, crying out that I had to find him. They say that I continued to rave for many weeks following that while they nursed me back to health.
I have no memories past the Day. We do not speak of it now, ever since I began screaming uncontrollably after a poor nun said his name. It took all of them to help calm me down, and I was not myself for a month after.
Now I live in the abbey, tending to the gardens and animals. Sometimes, when I am collecting eggs from our drab, downy hens, or perhaps weeding the carrots, I am reminded of Denise and my parents, and him. Those are bad days, the days when I cannot get flashes of metal and screams out of my head. I rarely help out in the kitchen, for knives give me tremors.
But there are also good days, when I smile as Sister Marguerite leads the nuns in song, and we enjoy fresh vegetables and baguette for dinner. Those special days when we get to drizzle a bit of our fruity golden honey over warm bread. And every day I go to bed after evening prayers with a warm full belly.
It will be two years this month, and I have more good days than ever. I am content. Guillaume broke my heart, but here I can put the pieces back together.