Henriad (History Plays, Book 5)

3: tempest of commotion

Oddcastle

They bring me no word of Harry the first day, nor the second. The second night falls and I begin to fear that the boy did die of the injury. I doubt I'll live long then, and yet I find myself morning the obstinate child despite my own impending doom. He was only a boy and reckless like boys tend to be there was no fault in that. I've seen enough boys die of it to be callous, but even so.
I almost don't wish the news or for anyone to come, because waiting with my thoughts is almost preferrable. In my thoughts I can imagine him alive and I have no news of the contrary it remains so. If I have answer I must live with that forever. I should say that I close my eyes and feel the boy's heavy body in my arms and smell his blood on my hands. I don't. I have had young men bleed out in my arms before. This latest is no sadder than the first. Just another blood spilt before me. it is meaningless anymore. And all is silence.
When I do hear the footsteps stopping outside my door I don't even relish it. Good news doesn't come to men like me.
Henry Lancaster himself steps in. His jacket hangs well off his shoulders and he's painfully thin. But his black eyes are bright and quick as he regards me. He's carrying, a gun bulges beneath his jacket and I see a knife on his boot as well as one on his belt. I'm sure there are many more. The police would have not bothered with him. This is his town. There's no question he goes where he pleases.
"Does the boy live?" I ask, standing.
"Before the fight you stated I wouldn't know my own son, why?" he asks, cocking his head a little, the smile on his lips sharp and cruel.
"I didn't say that—"
"You dare deny me?"
"You said he wouldn't go out there if he was truly badly hurt; I thought he would—it seems I was right," I say, my voice shaking. He's well? Or no? I have no idea. Lancaster's face, as usual, is stone.
"Why would you think that?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.
"Because I'm an old man. And I've seen many a young man run into a fight, that's all," I say, sighing a bit in frustration. I only said it because I was angry. I've seen these situations enough to see them written in the sky now.
"Harry's smarter than all of them put together," he says, flatly. I don't dare question if it's past or present tense. "So again, I ask you, why you'd think it?"
"Because, yeah, he's smarter than everyone ever but that doesn't stop him from being a sixteen year old boy with a grudge," I sigh, "And no matter how many languages he speaks or equations he can do in his head he was acting like a hurt child and I knew that he was going to want to get his revenge, injury or no because that is what idiot sixteen year olds do— it's what I did when I was an idiot boy it's what we do because we are stupid boys and most men don't fucking grow out of it."
"Why do you say he had a grudge?" he asks.
"Because—," it dawns on me he's not trying to catch me in my words. He's genuinely trying to get this information. Because he doesn't know it. Does that mean Harry doesn't live? It does, doesn't it?
"Because he was cross with Hotspur," I say.
"Why? Beyond Percy and Glyndower, what were Harry and Hotspur to each other?" he asks.
"Nothing just—"
"You will answer me," he flips a knife out of god knows where.
"The other day he was in the gym ranting—now I don't know how true this is at all because you know how quickly the boy talks—"
"Oddcastle."
"The other day he showed up, clearly been crying, needing to hit something, on about—you saying something to the effect of wishing that Hotspur were your Harry, and not him---now he was chattering a lot mind; I don't know if that's the words he used and he got madder as it went on—" I trail off because while he is incensed he's not angry with me. He swears rapidly, a hand to his head.
"No, Harry," he sighs, finally, a tear leaking from his eye. Fuck, the boy is dead then. Then he turns his attention back to me, "What else did he say then?"
"I don't know—"
"You'd better start knowing."
"Nothing of note, he was just angry; thought he was ten times better than Hotspur, so it was no surprise he wanted to bury his fists in that boy," I sigh, "That's all, he may have had the wrong end of ---"
"No, those were my words," he says, quietly.
I don't dare say anything. I don't ask him how he could have wanted to trade our Harry for that one when in fact I see no difference between them. A life for a life, each valuable in his own way. Neither one needed to die.
He takes a deep breath and sighs, "Sorry to keep you waiting. I had to stay in the hospital with Harry."
"Is he well, then?" I ask, hesitantly.
He ignores me, shifting to get something from his jacket, "You're a loose end you understand. They've blamed Hotspur's death on you, but I'm not particularly interested in the case going to trial. Rather messy and my entire family were witnesses and I'd sooner not have the police coming around. You understand."
He says it as he withdraws a thin rope. Already formed in a noose.
"I understand perfectly," I say, not moving to take it.
"Your suicide will be an admission of guilt. The case will be closed. And no one will feel the loss," he says.
"Can you—please---is the boy all right though? They patched him up then?" I ask.
He looks at me with poison in his eyes but I have nothing to lose. I'm about to die anyway.
"Please. Just so I know—"
He sets the noose in my hands.
"Can't I have a knife or a pill or something---I don't—I don't want to go, not like this," I say, my fingers curling around the rope.
"Get it around that bar there," he nods to the slat for the window, "Should do fine even with your weight. It's better than waiting till morning. You don't want to know what happens in the morning. If you're still alive."
"Please," I say, quietly.
He moves to go. I have nothing to lose.
"You didn't ever deserve him."
His neck tenses, but other than that he makes no indication that he heard me. He steps out and closes the door behind himself.
I look down at the rope in my shaking hands, tears leaking out of my eyes.
"Please," I whisper again. But nobody is here to hear me.