I find myself in the middle of The Great Hall, deep inside the Royalist headquarters of King Charles II—and, wow, it’s intense.
The straw-covered floor squelches beneath my boots… and the smell? Let’s just say it’s not for the faint-hearted. This place is less regal banquet, more A & E, 17th-century style.
Wounded soldiers are being hauled in left and right—some barely conscious, others groaning through the pain. It’s triage chaos, with nurses flying into action, bandages in hand and nerves of steel. Some are performing full-blown surgeries and even amputations right there in the open. I try to keep my cool, but honestly, I must turn away— battlefield gore is not my thing.