Chapter 24: By the Pricking of My Thumbs

In this bland, flabby casserole of a chapter, 1,001 loosely-related things happen at Castle Leoch.

We open with Claire and Jamie drinking toasts with well-wishers in Colum's hall. Actually, Jamie is doing most of the drinking. Claire seems mostly bored. Luckily, she's sitting next to Geillis, who is happy to say whatever inappropriate thing pops into her head.

"I ken the look of a lass that's been well bedded." She glanced toward the archway where Jamie had disappeared. "And damned if I think those are midge bites on the laddie's neck either." She raised one silver brow at me. "If it was a business arrangement, I'd say ye got your money's worth."

Claire is half exasperated, half enjoying herself when Jamie comes back in to deliver some bad news to Colum and Dougal. Dougal's wife, Ofdougal, has died. Sad! I guess!

Claire and Jamie discuss Dougal's marriage, which was "a matter more of lands and business than the wanting of each other."

I wondered whether this was Jamie's idea of marriage; separate lives, joining only infrequently for the breeding of children.

Not really. Jamie's parents married for love, against the wishes of their families, and Jamie bumbles around, getting close to actually articulating his feelings for Claire. Just say it already, goddamnit.

But Claire, of course, does not want to hear that Jamie loves her. Because she's leaving. Or something.

I wanted more than anything to turn to him, offer him comfort, assure him with body and words that what lay between us was more than a business arrangement. It was the truth of it that stopped me.

Sorry, Claire. You can't have a whole chapter of being carried across thresholds and accepting perfectly-fitting wedding rings and expect to come out of it with your emotional distance intact.

Things are getting a little earnest when Old Alec turns up with his "wicked-looking pair of gelding shears." Epic cockblock, Alec.

Claire and Jamie make plans to meet up later in the hayloft because I guess Claire doesn't have work to do anymore? Give yourselves some time to recuperate, at least.

But they're young and in love and enjoying a sweet cuddle when wee Hamish walks into the stable and heads straight for the most dangerous horse in all the land. Jamie gallantly goes to save his little cousin from getting his head caved in. They have a cozy, familial chat that reminded me that neither of them has a brother to talk with. Claire, of course, is eavesdropping.

Hamish wanted to ride the dangerous horse, Donas, to impress some older boys. Jamie promises to help him out while, at the same time, keeping him from breaking his neck. Awww.

Eventually, Hamish feels comfortable enough with Jamie to bring up some of the little-boy fears he can't discuss with his father or uncle.

"I've heard my father was a good rider," Hamish offered tentatively, after a moment's silence. "Before — before he couldn't anymore."

Jamie hears the real question and assures Hamish that his father is a very brave man.

Hamish asks Jamie if he minds being married, and Jamie treads the fine line of talking to Claire through his answers to his cousin, assuring Hamish that he is quite pleased in his marriage.

Apparently, the horse sex thing is a common misconception among the Highland lads:

"He-said-ye-must-serve-a-lass-like-a-stallion-does-a-mare-and-I-didna-believe-him-but-is-it-true?"

Claire's about ready to roll out of the hayloft laughing, but Jamie keeps it together and it's all very sweet.

It's clear from this that Jamie is good with kids. That fact is not lost on Claire, who starts fretting about the possibility of getting pregnant.

Because of my earlier difficulties in conceiving, I had not considered the possibility of pregnancy when I agreed to marry Jamie, and I waited in some apprehension until my monthly occurred on time.

Other things Claire did not consider:

male infertility
the small likelihood of getting pregnant when you have had sex only on ten random days spread out over a period of six years

And then, a story about how dumb little Hamish forgot to shut the horse in his stall properly, forcing Jamie to chase said horse into the loch. Kids. Cute, but more of a hassle than you probably need right now.

Then, Claire and Jamie find an ominous bouquet of thorns, wilted plants, and black thread under Claire's pillow. Jamie tosses it out the window and tells Claire it was a nasty joke, but we know better.

Claire dreams of butterflies and wakes up to oral. It's like heaven.

Claire spends the day digging herbs and tending to minor injuiries. Her workroom is tidy, her patients are on the mend, and she suddenly realizes that she is happy.

I felt immediately ashamed and disloyal. How could I bring myself to be happy, when Frank must be demented with worry?

She imagines Frank searching for her, going to the police, eventually giving up hope (I see now where the Frank scenes in the TV show were born — I appreciate the fleshed-out versions).

Deep down, I knew I must soon make some kind of decision, but I had delayed, putting off the necessity from day to day and hour to hour, burying my uncertainties in the pleasures of Jamie's company — and his arms.

Didn't she choose Jamie explicitly at the end of the last chapter. What was all that wedding ring stuff and "Frank never did find that out" sex about if it was not a decision?

And here's Jamie, hobbling into the surgery after injuring his ankle riding Donas. If we are going to be investigating supernatural talents, I want to know how Jamie manages to get injured at such strategic moments. Not only does he activate all Claire's healing feels, he also gets out of work for a while.

[Alec]: "I'll no expect ye in the stables tomorrow. Keep to your bed, laddie, and, er . . . rest."

"Why is it," I demanded, looking after the crusty old horsemaster, "that everyone seems to assume we've no more on our minds than to get into bed with each other?"

I dunno, maybe the lunchtime nookie in the stables, plus the screaming at night and the visible bites and scratches?

"For one thing, we've been married less than a month," he observed. "For another—" He looked up and grinned, shaking his head. "I've told ye before, Sassenach. Everything ye think shows on your face."

Hold up: They've been married less than a month? Back in Chapter 15, Claire mentioned that they were married six weeks after she arrived in 1743. So if they've been married less than a month, it's sometime before mid-July and she has been in the 18th century for (at most) two and a half months. But just a couple of pages ago, she said she'd been gone "upwards of four months." Can we get a continuity editor here? It's a time travel book. The chronology is important.

I spent the next morning ministering to the rather demanding needs of my solitary patient.

Hmmmph.

Despite the rain and Jamie's bum ankle, they head up to roof to watch the rain and chat about Lallybroch. Things are still unsettled betwen Jamie and his sister, and he means to go home to set things right, even if he is still an outlaw. But maybe the Duke of Sandringham will help him with a pardon! Seems like a long shot.

Claire tries to tell Jamie not to trust Sandringham because he's in cahoots with Black Jack Randall. But Jamie misinterprets her warning, thinking she meant to warn him that Sandringham is both gay and lecherous. Which he already knew. We'll get to that.

Claire brings up the rumor that Jamie is Hamish's father, wondering whether the rampant speculation is what made Jamie leave Leoch when he was 16. Jamie dismisses this, but considers the possibility that Colum might not know the real reason he left.

"Well, I'd best see that he finds out, then."

This sets up another infodump. Lot of stories about Jamie's childhood recently. Beginning to wonder whether he's being ostentatiously forthcoming as a way of asking Claire about her background without actually asking. Inviting her to chime in with her own stories. Which, of course, she does not do.

But before we get to that, Father Bain gets bitten by some dogs and won't let Claire help him.

"What, a man o' God to expose his pairsonal parts to the handling of a wumman? Weel, I'll tell ye, madam, I've no notion what sorts of immorality are practiced in the circles you're accostumed to move in, but I'll have ye to ken that such'll no be tolerated here — not sae long as I've the cure of the souls in this parish!"

DIAF, Father Bain.

Claire finally tells Jamie to take a nap so she can get some damn work done. She putters in her surgery for a while, enjoying some alone time. Old Alec shows up and Claire offers him some whisky and a massage to help with his rheumatism. He accepts and repays her kindness by laying out the story of Ellen MacKenzie and Brian Fraser.

Every time anyone mentions Ellen, she sounds like a BAMF and I'm sad we'll never get to meet her.

Ellen was Colum and Dougal's big sister. After their father died, the boys bullied their younger sister, 15-year-old Jocasta, into marrying into Clan Cameron for an alliance, but Ellen told them where to get off. She refused their hand-picked suitors and ran off with Black Brian Fraser.

"I heard tell later as they'd met at the Gathering, taken one look and decided on the spot as there could be none other for wither one o' them. So they laid their plans and they stole awa', under the noses of Colum MacKenzie and three hundred guests . . . They'd decided the only way to manage was to hide until Ellen was wi' child, and big enough that there'd be no question whose it was. Then Colum would have to give his blessing to the marriage, like it or no—and he didn't."

People really did force marriages this way in the 18th century. Some American historians have argued that young people in the 18th century used pre-marital sex and pregnancy to force their families to agree to the marriages they chose for themselves. Check out these statistics from Massachusetts, showing how the percentage of first babies born within nine months of marriage increased from the mid-17th century to the mid-18th. For example, in Hingham, Massachusetts, 100% of first babies were born after the nine-month mark in the 1640s and 1650s. By 1700-1720, that was down to 82.6%, and it dropped to 61.8% by the 1750s. And that's New England — rates of premarital conception were much higher in England. Of course, not all of these couples were young lovers hoping to pressure their parents — some were unlucky enough to be forced into marriages they would not have chosen if not for pregnancies. But the argument is that the change over time indicates a change in the young people found marriage partners, the process becoming less parent-driven in the 18th century than it had been in the 17th.

In any case, Ellen and Brian were married and moved into Lallybroch a week before their first child was born.

Alec falls asleep, but this chapter keeps on rolling.

Claire goes to get a book from Colum's library. Instead, she eavesdrops on a nasty little spat between Colum and Dougal. Dougal has done something stupid, and sex-related:

[Colum]: "If the brothers MacKenzie have but one cock and one brain between the two of them, then I'm glad of my half of the bargain!"

Claire decides she's heard enough and turns to go, but hears someone coming and hides behind a tapestry.

Colum and Dougal have calmed down a bit, but are still snapping, Colum making reference to Geillis Duncan and saying, "I'll attend to it." Then, they casually joke about the Duke of Sandringham's interest in Jamie. Colum tells Dougal he will go off hunting with Sandringham and Jamie so he'll be "out of the way" while Colum "settle[s] matters here."

Claire peeks out of her hiding place to see that the other eavesdropper is Laoghaire, carrying a tray. She skedaddles, but leaves the tray, and Claire picks it up, pretending that she was just bringing refreshments all along.

Claire hangs out in the library for a while. Through the library window, she witnesses Hamish trying to jump his new horse:

He seemed to do it just as the others had, and yet something happened. Perhaps a hesitation by his rider, a too-hard pulling on the reins, or a not-quite-firm seat. For the front hooves struck the wall just a few inches too low, and horse, rider and all, somersaulted over the wall in the most spectacular parabola of doom I had ever seen.

Don't worry! Hamish is ok! So is the horse. Not sure how Jamie will be once Colum finds out he's the one who let Hamish ride this horse. Claire should also have a care:

"You care for him as though he were your own, don't you?" I asked.

The grey eyes blazed suddenly into mine with the most extraordinary expression of alarm . . .

"Yes," he said simply.

Here's another vote for families made by choice, not by biology. So far, this novel makes a very strong case that neither blood ties nor legal formalities are as important as the vows people choose to make and keep. Claire, Hamish, and wee Roger are all beloved children of their adoptive/putative parents. Some legal marriages are shams (like Geilie's) and some are just precursors to actual commitment (Claire and Jamie).

Speaking of blood ties, Claire has somehow convinced herself that the argument she overheard involved Dougal seducing Laoghaire, and Colum promising to get her to Geillis for an abortion. The abortion part seems reasonable, but how did she get Laoghaire involved? Just because she ran for it when she realized what she was hearing? That hardly proves that she's the one who's pregnant.

Claire spends dinner that night musing on the different "facial types" on display like the good eugenicist she probably is. While she's busy sorting her companions into Picts, Gauls, Normans, Saxons, and Norsemen based on the shapes of their skulls, the company starts reminiscing about the last time the Duke of Sandringham visited.

"Sandringham? Ah, old Willie the arse-bandit," said Ned, meditatively.

They spend some time ribbing Jamie for being the object of the Duke's desire:

[Dougal]: "Ye were a pretty lad at sixteen, Jamie."

Jamie nodded, chewing. "Aye. Fast, too."

Then we all sit back to hear the tale of how the Duke got very close to raping 16-year-old Jamie on multiple occasions, but was ultimately foiled by Jamie's successful plan to drink a whole bottle of "syrup of figs" to give himself explosive diarrhea.

Rupert warns that the Duke's servant is rapist, too! So I'm super glad we're going to meet all these people soon.

At least now Colum knows the real reason Jamie left Leoch. It strikes me again that Jamie does not speak of his near-rapes with any particular outrage or disgust. In fact, this time it's all high good humor.

Next day, Jamie and Alec rush into Claire's study all excited and appraising her arms and hands. Why? A mare is having difficulty foaling and they want Claire to reach inside and turn the foal. Claire is a little reluctant, but lathers up and does her best. This is a long story and I'm not quite sure what it has to do with anything. Short version: Claire turns the foal, which is born safely, and everyone is very happy. Even Claire, who feels the contentment of a job well done.

Next up: sexy anatomy lessons for Jamie.

"I like to hear the Latin names for things; I never dreamed it would be so pleasant to make love to a physician."

That goes just about as you would expect.

Later, Geillis making a nuisance of herself in the surgery. She invites Claire on an herb-gathering mission to the nearby forest.

"Why not?"

Nope, can't think of a single reason why that might be a bad idea.

Geillis notices the ill-wish bundle, which Claire (stupidly) retrieved after Jamie threw it out the window. Geillis promises to help Claire figure out who left it, no doubt by making polite inquiries among the kitchen staff.

Geilie's figure disappeared into the bracken above me, as I paused to scrape a bit of aspen bark into my basket. The globules of dried sap on the papery bark looked like frozen drops of blood, the deep crimson refulgent with trapped sunlight.

DON'T MIND US. JUST SOME INNOCENT BLOODFIRE TREES, TRYIN' TO GROW HERE, NOT PORTENDING ANY SORT OF DOOM.

Then, the changeling incident. Claire hears a baby and tries to save it, but Geillis explains that the people here believe a sick infant is a fairy changeling and expose it so that the fairies will take it back. Claire, showing an alarming lack of self-preservation instinct, decides to act like she's not A) in the 18th century, B) in Backwardevenfornow-ville C) in the company of a suspected witch. She tries to tend to the baby, but even Geillis knows a bad scene when she sees one and drags Claire away. Claire keeps whining, and Geillis loses her cool:

"You bloody pig-headed English ass!" she shouted at me. "There's nothing ye can do! Do you hear me? Nothing! That child's as good as dead! I'll not stand here and let ye risk your own life and mine for some crack-brained notion of yours!"

Look at you, Geillis, talking sense.

Claire, on the other hand, seems to have suffered a head injury of some sort, since she has forgotten where she is and how she needs to act in order to go unsuspected.

"Geilie, no, I can't. I'll be careful, I promise, but I have to go."

That's a real Jamie move, there, Claire. Stand stubbornly on principle, even when there is nothing to gain and plenty to lose. Claire's version of honor is all about healing the sick/injured, and she will risk her own safety to do her duty, even when it is hopeless.

Geillis runs off and Claire goes back to look for the baby.

Actually, I was scared out of my wits when the shadowy figure slid out an grabbed me. I let out a piercing shriek and struck at it.

Ahh! Jamie! Not cool. Announce yourself before grabbing. Don't you remember the creepy door-opening incident? Lucky Claire didn't think to walk with her sgian dhu in hand.

The baby is dead. Claire couldn't save it. Jamie escorts her back to the castle, scolding her for her foolishness along the way.

"I'm not afraid of superstitions." A thought struck me. "Do you believe in fairies, and changelings, and all that?"

All that? You mean, like, magical circles of standing stones that serve as portals through the chasm of time?

Jamie says he doesn't really believe, but reminds Claire that the old stories are more than entertainment to the village folk. Jamie is an educated man, but even he admits, "I suppose there's some truth behind some of them."

I thought of the amber eyes of the waterhorse, and wondered which others were true.

I almost forgot about the waterhorse. You are mighty skeptical for a time traveler who has actually seen the Loch Ness monster, missy.

Claire and Jamie arrive at Castle Leoch, where the Duke of Sandringham has arrived at last. Claire meets the Duke (hopefully she changed out of her mud-tramping gown first?), who is described as a ridiculous personage, "a big man, fit and solid" with "a voice like an overwrought mouse." Usually, I wouldn't care much about a supporting character providing comic relief with his mannerisms, but this feels gross. We're already dealing with Black Jack Randall, the Meticulous Gay Sadist. Now we have Sandringham, the theatrical, squeaky-voiced pederast? I do not feel good about this.

Colum proposes a hunting party, comprising the Duke, Dougal, and Jamie.

"Capital! Capital!" The Duke was delighted. He patted Jamie on the leg; I saw the muscles tighten, but Jamie didn't move. He smiled tranquilly, and the Duke let his hand linger just a moment too long. Then His Grace caught my eye on him, and smiled jovially at me, his expression saying "Worth a try, eh?" Despite myself, I smiled back. Much to my surprise, I quite liked the man.

I feel like I need to pause for a moment to puzzle out what is going on with these gay characters. On the one hand, this novel traffics in some very ugly tropes. It's not just the Depraved Homosexual. Now we have All Gays are Pedophiles as well. And Sandringham is being played for some pretty broad laughs.

On the other hand, the book doesn't seem fully committed to hating on the gay characters for being gay. Claire likes the Duke. Black Jack Randall's evilness transcends his gayness. Even Jamie is pretty chill about dudes trying to rape him.

So what is going on here? Perhaps it's just that this book is 24 years old and thus slightly befuddling to li'l old Millennial me. But I am working on a theory that this is all about Jamie. Specifically, this novel is posing a lot of questions about consent and sexual power dynamics, and having Jamie be the object of male desire highlights some of the absurdities that might slip by unnoticed if directed at a female character. Is it inappropriate for a Duke to hit on a teenager? When he's grabbing 16-year-old Jamie's ass, it's alarming, even if the characters are laughing about it. But how many times has a noble character pinched a serving girl or slid a hand up her skirt in a sci fi/historical fiction/adventure story and it's barely noticed? Khal Drogo rapes Daenerys until she falls in love with him on Game of Thrones (TV, not book, Drogo is much gentler in the book, though Dany is also much, much younger, so . . . ). Think of how grotesque "raped until you learn to like it" turns in this novel. The Duke's pursuit of Jamie may be getting some laughs here, but no one is laughing at the end of the book.

I don't know. The Sandringham-as-Pederast stuff is vile. That's a powerful trope that has done a lot of real-world damage to real people. Is it worth it to go there, even in service of productive gender-swapping? I don't know. I don't feel good about Sandringham's characterization, that's for damn sure.

Now, back to the ongoing, neverending, eternal, ceaseless plot of this chapter.

. . . when Colum asked Jamie to ride down and escort the Duncans to the castle for the Duke's banquet two days later, I went with him.

This makes no damn sense. Why do the Duncans need an escort? Have they ever had one before? Did they forget where Leoch is? Lazy. Maybe I should overlook this, but I am so sick of this stupid chapter that I'm just generally cranky.

Claire gets a few minutes alone with Geillis and they sneak up to attic to perform a "summoning," ostensibly to find out who left the ill-wish in Claire's bed. Geillis pours water in a basin, lights a candle, burns some herbs. Maybe some opium. Claire might be hypnotized. Or high. Geillis starts asking her questions about her identity and origins.

"Why did you come?"

"I can't tell."

"Why can't you tell?"

"Because no one will believe me."

The voice in my head grew still more soothing, friendly, beguiling.

"I will believe you. Believe me. Who are you?"

Just when Claire is on the verge of spilling her guts, Arthur Duncan interrupts and breaks the trance. Geillis "mutter[s] something rude under her breath," but gives up (for now) and goes to dress for the banquet. While she's dressing, Arthur barges in on her and sees something shocking:

Crossing to the privy closet, he knocked once, hastily, and went in.

There was a small startles scream from within, and then dead silence.

Arthur Duncan reappeared in the door, eyes wide and staring-blind, face so white that I thought perhaps he was suffering an attack of some sort.

Claire doesn't know what Arthur saw and Geillis isn't about to tell her.

They go to the banquet. Claire and Jamie, "somewhat lower in status," have to sit with Rupert and Ned rather than Dougal, Colum, and the Duke. A great loss, I'm sure.

It was in fact delicious. I had never tasted roast pheasant stuffed with honeyed chestnuts, and was helping myself to a third slice, when Ned Gowan, watching in some amusement at my appetite, asked whether I had yet tried the suckling pig.

I feel that Claire has not had to eat enough disgusting things in the 18th century. She doesn't comment on the food all that much (drink is another matter), but when she does, it is usually favorably. In the interests of making the 18th century less romantic, I hope there comes a time when she is subsisting on rancid meat and pottage. Also, they drink a lot of lovely wine and whisky and ale in this series, but haven't really dipped into the 18th-century favorites. Let's see some punch, flip, syllabub, and posset around here. In general, their libations need more unpasteurized dairy and eggs. I suppose it's possible that those drinks were less popular in the Highlands than elsewhere, but Colum sets a fashionable table, so no excuse.

Colum gets up from his seat and starts walking over to Claire. Immediately, I am on my guard, expecting something humiliating/painful. Colum makes a little speech about Claire's many talents, making reference to her help with delivering the foal. This could be sincere, or could be the setup to a cruel joke. Cringing.

"In any case," Colum continued, reaching into his coat pocket, "you must allow me to present you with a small token of my gratitude." He handed me a small wooden box, lid carved with the MacKenzie badge.

Ahhhh! Don't open it! 90% sure it's a manticore!

It contained a beautiful rosary of jet, each bead intricately carved, and the crucifix inlaid with silver.

Oh. That's disappointing. Though I'm not ruling out the possibility that it is poisoned or fitted with some sort of surveillance device.

Nonetheless, I thanked Colum warmly, and gave the rosary to Jamie to keep for me in his sporran.

Do ye no have pockets, Claire? That's one thing I always liked about wearing historical clothing — plenty of pockets for women. My modern clothes almost never have pockets and it is super annoying. I'm pretty sure Claire has had pockets in other chapters of this book. It's not like one dress has them and another doesn't — 18th-century pockets were little bags worn underneath the gown, down among the layers of undergarments.

Then, calamity:

I could see the rotund form of Arthur Duncan on the floor, limbs flailing convulsively, batting away the helpful hands of would be assistants.

Claire thinks Arthur is choking and tries to help. She thumps, massages, even gives mouth-to-mouth, but no dice. He dies on the floor in the middle of the banquet. Claire notes that her own lips are tingling, but I am already spoiled for the poison bit.

A week later, this chapter is still going on.

Also, Jamie leaves to go stag hunting with the Duke.

The realization of Jamie's imminent departure was deeply depressing.

I used to get mopey when Mr. Gemma went on business trips. Then, I had kids. Now I curse my pre-kid self for wasting all that delightful Alone Time being grumpy.

"I'll miss you, Jamie," I said softly.

He hugged me tighter, and gave a rueful chuckle.

"So will I, Sassenach. I hadna expected it, to tell the truth—but it will hurt me to leave ye."

I get why Claire is reluctant to tell Jamie she loves him (other than that one outburst at the end of Chapter 22, but that was a light moment, not a heartfelt confession). She is still thinking about leaving. Maybe. But what is his hangup?

"Oh, and stay away from Geillis Duncan."

That's the kiss of death for Claire. Whenever someone says, "Claire, stay here" or "Claire, don't go there," you know for sure that she's going. It's like when someone in a George R.R. Martin book says, "We'll talk about that important thing when I get back." Dead man riding.

Claire wakes up cold in the night. Because Jamie stole her quilt. So he could watch her sleep. It has to be said:

Jamie goes off hunting and Claire mopes around for a couple of weeks. One day, Laoghaire finds Claire and tells her that Geillis has sent word that she is ill and that Claire should go to the village at once. Claire is not suspicious at all, which, frankly, is a bit surprising. She knows she's supposed to be on her guard. Jamie warned her about Geillis. Geillis warned her about the girls in the castle being unhappy that she had taken Jamie off the marriage market. And here's Laoghaire, telling Claire to ignore Jamie's warning and go see Geillis.

I hesitated, remembering Jamie's injunctions, but the twin forces of comapssion and boredom were sufficient to set me on the road to the village within the hour, my medicine box strapped behind me on the horse's saddle.

So much for Jamie's theory of the efficacy of beating a lesson into someone.

Geillis is, of course, perfectly fine. Drunk, but fine. Alone in squalor, but fine.

A far-off rumbling, muttering sort of noise. I had heard it before, from this room, and my palms had grown sweaty then at the thought of confronting the mob that made it.

The End.

This was, by far, my least favorite chapter. There were some entertaining portions, but I stupefied by the organizational mayhem. The whole point of having chapters is to sharpen the narrative. You direct the reader's attention to particular themes or relationships by grouping events together in productive ways. This isn't a "chapter" so much as a staggering concoction of odds and ends tossed together and served in an aspic suspension. The editorial process at work here boggles the mind.

Body Count:

Jamie: 5 + assorted redcoats + two years as mercenary in France

Claire: 1