What do I know about 16-18th Century AD France (which this is sort of based on)? Nothing! Do I care? No! Although I will need to change the names of the regions.
Like any sensible soldier, when Gerard had a problem he went to a tavern. Maybe the solution would be at the bottom of a wine bottle. Or perhaps the problem itself would get drowned in one, instead, thus stop pestering a honest soldier. And if all else failed, there was always the chance for a brawl. That rarely solved problems, but it usually made Gerard feel better about them.
The Culotte Jetée had managed to avoid much Gaillic attention during the brief fighting, and the innkeeper had the sickly smile of a man ready to toady to keep it that way. Gerard tried not to hold it against the man. Too much. Not every ‘fellow-soldier’ was so tolerant, but since this was where the officers drank, things stayed quiet, and no more than the usual cups got broken every night. Gerard still ordered a fresh, sealed bottle of wine, and never mind the expense. Gaillish wines already tasted enough like piss that he was not sure he could tell if the innkeeper was fortifying them on the sly.
Alas, no solutions to Gerard’s problems had deigned to show up at the Culotte Jetée by the end of the first bottle. No obliging bravos, either. But then, the local western Gaillish wouldn’t dare throw a punch at an eastern Gaillic soldier, would they? Not when their former lord was locked up in his own dungeons at the Chateau d’Aléatoire, waiting to be given the sword in the morning.