It was noon on a cloudless day and the men had been marching all day. Lucky to be on a mount, GarGar, le comte des Deux Chat was still parched. Reaching out to his aide-de-camp who was riding beside him, he said, “Wine, if you please, François.” “Yes, my lord,” replied François, handing le comte a bursting wineskin. Popping the cork with his teeth, GarGar drank deeply until the red liquid ran down his chin.
“Perhaps we should stop to water the horses-” GarGar paused. “And the men.”
“Halt!” Shouted François, while GarGar raised his arm to indicate that the order was coming directly from him, rather than the speaker. A trumpet sounded the command as well. A collective sigh of relief could be heard up and down the line. “At least it ain’t rainin'” GarGar heard one of his foot soldiers say. “Indeed!” Replied GarGar. “Here, my good man, have some wine.” He handed the wineskin to the soldier’s eager, trembling hands. “Pass that along to your comrades, if you would be so kind.”