Days of the Dead Book 1: The Thief's End

Chapter 7: Return to Windsor Castle

Gideon
Church eventually ends, and we file out. I'm mostly separated from my friends by formalities, but I'm happy enough to hang back and not talk to anyone. The Duke of Conwy slaps my shoulders before going to join Elis and Rhiannon, as a noble he can. I'm technically not a noble.
It's a long procession back to Windsor, where I proceed to immediately get lost. I'm not invited to dinner or anything of the sort, a part of Henry's usual policy: "I know I invited Gideon here, but I deeply don't want him in my house". It's less his house these days. He spends most of his time on campaign. Castile (Spain) is about done for, but Portugal is putting up a good fight. He'll go rejoin the front and likely won't return for Christmas. This is his first time in the country in about a year. To that end, his eldest Prince Harry, handles most domestic affairs. He came of age last year and his father grants him reasonable authority on matters of state.
That's not strictly unusual. Crown princes tend to get a decent amount of responsibility, if they come of age while their father is king. Henry V himself, was doing all manner of tasks for his father, and had a reasonable amount of authority in his own right, from his late teens on. Henry IV was of course a usurper, so he was never a crown prince. Richard II was king by the time he was ten, though he himself exercised authority from a young age albeit as King. Edward III gave decent power not only to his eldest the Black Prince, starting a young age, but his eldest girl and other sons all got to do some business as working royals. As a general rule, in the Middle Ages, sixteen or so you came of age, and you got to go to battle, get married, and the like, and yes handle political affairs as well, though in general you were on a leash till you were twenty or so, in that usually you'd get some advisors or the like.
In our case, Henry is likely leaving his boy with some trusted advisors, but eh, sixteen is pretty mature and he's a good kid, he can have some fun and rule in his father's absence. That's pretty typical, since Prince Harry doesn't want to go on campaign with his father, which would be typical, then he might as well do this here. Henry II, Edward III primarily, let their sons semi-rule swaths of their large kingdoms. The princes did have to refer back to their dad for some things, but they got a taste of it. It's monarchy with training wheels. Likely Henry's younger boys will do their tutelage and a similar scheme in other parts of Henry's vast domain, get them out of the house and some experience.
Anyway, point being Prince Harry is absolutely fine with me being in Windsor and has invited me and any guests a few times while his father was away. Once we were passing through, another time Elis needed to consult him to do with shipping agreements so Prince Harry invited me as well to come and visit. He's entirely kind and Elis and Rhiannon finally saw what I'd been telling them, that he's not the problem and wants what's best for the people of the Kingdom, caring little for power. Which, while we'd rather be independent, is spades above his father.
Who yes, does not care for me at his table. That's honestly fine, Henry's table is packed with his courtiers and he just sits there pretending to eat, charming them all while Courtenay lurks someplace playing the bishop. Then when evening's done they take dinner together and talk well into the night. Prince Harry's table is another matter, when we visited, he had scholarly visitors from the various colleges up for his own and his brother's education, and it was quiet and we discussed religion and philosophy for several hours, and the few courtiers that were there grew tired of it and left us to it, and it was all together much more relaxing.
And since the King is home, I assume he's got plenty of guests and it will be noisy. I'm happy to slip off to find my anti-social friends.
I find them the third place I look. Outside the stables, hiding from people, and having a feast from food stolen from the kitchens.
"How horrible was church?" Dancer asks, leaning against the barn, a bit slumped. He has a bad limp, his cane is propped next to him. Dark hair falls nearly into his eyes as he averts them from me, staring off at the sunset.
"I don't think I'll emotionally recover from having to watch Courtenay act like a man of god," I say.
"Isn't he just Satan?" Gareth asks, he's predictably got Lowri balanced on one hip, and is offering her bits of food. When she sees me she holds out her arms hopefully.
"No, don't insult Lucifer in that manner— hello you," I say, taking Lowri.
"Gideon!" She cries, happily crawling to sit on my shoulder, "I missed you ALL day."
"Yeah take it up with God how long church is," I say.
"Jac lose his mind?" Gareth asks, pleasantly. He and his step-brother get along just fine, in fact they're the other's best friend. However they do fully act like brothers and mess with each other.
"Yes, as did I," I say, holding Lowri in place with one hand, not that she needs the help. The Fae girl has uncanny coordination. She looks the five year old well enough, with long dark hair, and soft blue eyes, she easily passes for the offspring of her mum and dad. However. She's decidedly verbal, coordinated, and skilled with magic. Just a touch off from human.
"Well, that's what you get for being fancy people. Did Courtenay look stupid in the silly hat?" Dancer asks.
"No! He looked great, okay? It sucks but he looked awesome, like always, I have seen that man bleeding from his eyes and mouth and covered in mud, and throwing up over the side of a ship, and wine drunk at three am, there is no situation in which he does not look amazing. I don't know what to say," I say, shrugging.
"Damn," Dancer says.
"I think we should put a spell on him," Lowri says, messing with my hair.
"Yeah, no, we're not doing that just yet. Give him time," I say, swinging her down into my arms, "All right? We don't just put spells on people just for fun, we need a reason. And this is Courtenay and Henry, they'll give us one in like a week."
"True," Lowri says, happy to be cuddled.
"More like a day," Dancer scoffs, "We are never going to last here an entire week. Like, they've tried to kill us. More than once. More than twice. Now we're playing nice and having tea parties."
"You are," Gareth says, without remorse, "I'm not doing anything or talking to any of 'em."
"Yeah, which is so unfair because I'm also illegitimate, I shouldn't have to go to church—well—at least I'm out here and I didn't have to have dinner with them," I say, swinging Lowri back and forth.
"Cheers to that," Dancer says, "I'm going home tomorrow night, something for my dad." That means going back to our home, or birth, dimension.
"Okay, I'll pass," I say.
"Mate," Dancer frowns. He knows I haven't been back in probably months? I don't know. I don't bother. I don't tend to bother unless I'm going to the emergency room for some wound that is not treatable by Middle Ages medicine.
"I'm busy! I've got something going, you know that wizard I've been trying to track down?" I ask. Five years ago, I had a run in with a rogue wizard, who was imprisoned somehow, had his mouth sewn shut. He gave me a set of dog tags with the name Ethan Wren on it. In both worlds I've tried to track him but to no avail.
"Yeah—Ethan Wren," Dancer says, "We searched it, he died in Vietnam. No way he was your guy."
"Yeah, but the dog tags were owned by whoever handed them to me. A lover, whatever," I say, "So—I think I've found a spell that will let me turn it into a, temporary, reverse amulet."
"That would take you to him?" Gareth asks.
"Yes," I say, "In theory."
"Should you be doing this anyway, Gid? What if you got stuck—and what's it matter? This wizard isn't a threat to us," Gareth says.
"No, but I think he needed my help. And I'm not doing anything between one and three am anyway," I say.
"And if this spell goes wrong?" Dancer asks.
"I think I blow up? I don't know. I didn't pay attention to that part of the instructions," I say, chewing on my fist.
"That's it. I'm telling Sadie you're doing this," Dancer says, "I'll bring her here to kick your ass." Sadie is a fellow wizard, and good friend. She's currently in the real world doing her last year of university. I graduated this spring, history studies of course. Hence my general freedom to remain here. She's mostly absent from this world, due to class schedules and the like. She'll drop in if we need her, though.
"Gid, seriously," Gareth says, taking back Lowri who crawls back to his arms, "Why are you risking it?"
"Fun. I mean, it's the right thing to do," I say, quickly.
"You're a hazard to yourself," Dancer shakes his head.
"I do know," I shrug.
We finish up dinner and then I escort Lowri back to her governess. Most royal children have a governess, who oversees their education, as well as a couple of child minders or nurses. The nurses would usually cycle out or be a paid position, the governess is generally a noble woman, albeit a minor one, who remains most of the child's life, overseeing education and all around being another, more present, parent. Sometimes it's a spinster aunt or niece, in our case a younger noble woman came with us, and then Rhiannon's cousin who is widowed, acts as governess full time.
In general, lower nobles have fewer staff to mind their children, maybe one or two nannies and maybe a wetnurse, but of course Kings and Queens have as little to do with the children as they like. Just like everyone else, there are good and bad parents. Being busy ruling the country doesn't mean that all monarchs are necessarily absent. Edward III intentionally spent time with his many kids, we know for a fact while on campaign he wrote letters to his eldest, the Black Prince, when the boy was only ten, and his eldest daughter was said to be his favorite child. Now, Edward III and his family are usually the exception to the rule, but the point stands that monarchs could and did have reasonably good relationships with their children. Again, there's going to be toxic, controlling parents anywhere. Having a pack of nannies doesn't necessarily imply that, the kids don't know any different that's just their life and if the monarch is decent when they are around then, to an extent no harm no foul. Lowri has me and Gareth at her beck and call if her mum and dad are busy, she's not really hurt she's just got a bigger family. I think Henry V, for his sins, tries to be a decent father when he is about, he doesn't know how to be a decent human being (if I sound biased he's tried to kill my friends and once punched me in the face), but I think when he's not on campaign he's kind enough to his kids. With most historical figures we're not actually going to know what went on or how good or bad a parent someone was but their child's actions are usually pretty telling, enough so that we can tell the kid was happy enough with the relationship, or not.
I drop Lowri off after swearing her to be passably good. Tomorrow she gets to play with her future husband, Henry's youngest boy. That sounds like, really bad, but like, also not really there's a very low chance we're going to actually go through with this, unless for whatever reason she wants to.
Usually, Elis or Rhiannon will come and say goodnight, depending on what they're doing, but at this point dinner has likely just ended. By the time they get free she'll be sound asleep. It's not wholly unusual but as a rule they'll try to take supper with her once a week and at least one if not both take some time to chat about her day. That sounds poor from our urban perspective, but again in this day and age it's really all the little girl knows, and it's likely more than either one of them had from their parents. Also Lowri is Fae; she can absolutely find me or Gareth or Dancer if she thinks she needs something, and she has been known to magic her way out of captivity and to whatever state dinner is going on in order to curl up in her father's lap. Elis finds this amusing (thank god), as does his court.
I make my way to the library. I have some research to do. We used to have a fine library at Harlech castle, in Wales. Then some power hungry warlord with an ego the size of Europe burned Harlech to the ground and took all our books. Yes, I know it sounds like Henry V is the villain in all my stories to but to be clear he did all that and is proud of it. Like read him that sentence he'd just flatly agree he wouldn't be offended. The man wanted to invade France since age twelve, and he and his traumatic brain injury made that dream come true. He made the active choice to be what he is.
Anyway. He took my books. And I have a promise to keep.
So this sounds a little foolhardy that's because it is. I was doing some, well I'm not gonna justify it, slightly illegal magic and in my defense Courtenay helped, and I wound up going thirty years into the future to help out Prince Harry, by then King of England, with some magic related problems. Anyway, in the process of doing that I met a wizard who was enslaved somehow, I assume by Templars.
Templars are a sect of wizards that tend to try to right history based off their own judgement. I admit to helping my favorite people not die, but I do try not to disrupt anything. I've taken an oath not to directly harm Henry (not Courtenay, he can choke). But I do generally try to help Wales and prevent deaths. Not actively assassinate people I think are evil, which is what the Templars do. Anyway, I've had run ins with them a time or thirty. They have amulets like I do, but they're generally not a huge threat.
Anyway, this wizard I met was enslaved. I assumed by them. But the thing is, Dancer's father, who is an ally to all this magical adventure stuff we're doing, has infiltrated the Templars (he has time on his hands) and his spying hasn't revealed anything. No record of Ethan Wren. So who was this wizard I met? He asked me to find him, and I do want to help him. I feel bad. Nobody else probably knows what's happened. I need to look through some books on magic, see if I can figure out a way to use the dog tags and trace the owner. It's my last resort, but it's been five years. I hate to think of him suffering for that long.
Anyway, Courtenay has those types of books. No, he doesn't share them with me. But honestly at this point he'd be concerned if I didn't break into his office while I'm here. It'd upset him and he's kind of old that would be mean. I'm not going to disturb an old man like that.
Yes, of course he has enchantments around his and Henry's office (they share an office, don't look at me like that in my world they wind up sharing a tomb, which is gayer than the first thing). To be clear, they have never said or done anything actually implying a romantic relationship. They just spend all their time together conquering the world, dressing alike, and abusing Welsh teenagers together. If that's not love, what is? At this point they've accidentally raised a family together as well. So, yeah, that's what's going on there. You know as much as I do or want to. Historians get really mad, like really mad, when say the word 'gay' associated with pillar of masculinity Henry V, but he knowingly arranged to be buried with Courtenay and trusted him implicitly. Whatever, anyway yes they are best friends but at some point in their unnaturally long lives they wound up being the other's only real friend.
So I'm burgling their joint office. It's not that dramatic, Courtenay's adorable attempts to keep me out were in vain. And yeah he'll know I did it. But if he doesn't piss me off in the next week I'll teach him the spell I used in church to stop everyone from hearing us talking. I found it a few years ago, figured he and Henry would like it, however they have not yet gone a decent stretch of time without pissing me off so I haven't shared it yet. I might as a show of good faith after sneaking in to read his spell books, AGAIN. Or they might massively annoy me in the next twenty four to forty eight hours and I won't. It'll almost definitely be that second one.
I takes a couple of hours to find the spell I need. And then I slip back up to the visitor quarters. I'll go check in with my friends, then get on with mischief for the night. No, I'm not sleeping. I'm in Windsor castle. It's tradition I wander around all hours being naughty.
In the stairwell I catch a couple of children who clearly have the same sentiment. A pair of boys, maybe six and seven or right about there, both have blonde hair and blue eyes, but while one is clearly one of Henry's spawn, with blonde curls, light blue eyes, and a charming grin, the other is more like Lucifer's spawn, with limp white blond hair, soulless eyes with nothing behind them, and a future axe murderer grin painted on his face, currently clutching a knife in either hand.
"Prince Edmund, and Henry Holland," I guess, smiling a little. Edmund is Henry's youngest boy, yes, Lowri's betrothed. Henry Holland is the one who looks like he should be locked up preemptively. He's the son of the Duke of Exeter, who is constable of the Tower, ergo his dad is usually in London, so he and his mother are too as a rule. He'll grow up to be Constable of the Tower as well, and surprisingly durable and mean, though a loyal ally Prince Harry. I like him, at a distance.
"What are you doing here?" Prince Edmund asks.
"Perhaps I'm looking for princes who should be in bed. You two don't have any cause to be near the visitor quarters," I say.
"We're looking for my fiancé," Edmund says, like he in his night things has a right to be doing that.
"And if he doesn't like her, I'm gonna kill her," Henry Holland says.
"Shh, quiet Harry," Edmund covers his friend's mouth.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice he's planning to murder someone?" I ask.
"I was hoping," Edmund nods.
Henry Holland murmurs a spell and flicks his hand, trying to attack me. I deflect it easily, raising a hand lazily. He's a sorcerer, or will be. Currently he's tiny with no proper outlet or training.
"You're entertaining, bed, both of you, do I need to tell Tudor I found you here?" I ask, naming Henry's loyal steward, who somehow against his will became the backbone of this family.
"No," the boys say, in unison.
"You get to play with your fiancé tomorrow," I say, "Shouldn't you get to bed?"
"But tomorrow I have to act nice," Edmund says.
"Yeah and I can't kill her," Henry Holland says.
"He's not safe to be out, okay, um, yeah, good luck with that," I say. Lowri is far more proficient in magic than the scrappy boy, and the Duke of Conwy and I have been putting knives in her hands for years. I'm not really concerned. "Go on, bed, or at least on the other side of the castle where your father is responsible for you."
"But—," they look miserable.
"Do you think if you say that I'll let you go stab someone?" I ask.
"We had not firmed on stabbing," Edmund says.
"No, I might bash her head in," Henry Holland says.
"No, we might not kill anyone! Jesus, Harry," Edmund sighs.
I struggle not to smile. I know it's creepy, but I've learned to love him. He's tame to our side.
Henry Holland tries again to curse me and I block it again, so tired.
The door slams beneath us. Both boys attempt to bolt at the familiar footsteps but I catch them by the backs of their shirts. Don't worry, the evil one does try to stab me. I tug his knives from his hands with magic.
"I FOUND THEM! Stop running you two," a very over worked, very resigned to near constant royal bullshit, Owen Tudor limps up the stairs. Don't know why he's limping, to be safe I blame these two kids. Ice blonde hair slicked back, and blue eyes flashing when he spies me, Tudor doesn't like me, but I don't blame him since I'm usually up to no good. He's used to me by now, so that's a step.
"Stupefaciunt omnia magica—that'll stop you from getting cursed till you get him to his room, at least," I say, setting the spell on Henry Holland before handing the furious, struggling child off.
"Much obliged, Saint," Tudor grunts, picking up a boy under each arm, as a matter of form, "What are you doing out so late?"
"Stopping you from being stabbed, have a nice night," I say, holding up the two knives.
"Where did you get those this time, Harry? Thank you," Tudor says, wincing a little.
"Yeah, night now, have fun," I say.
He shakes his head, "Edmund, you know better."
"Prince Edmund to you."
"You laughed when that one stabbed me. You're two comments from me waking your mother to tell her what you're like. Constantly. Because she said next time you got out bring you to her to punish you personally and we both know she meant it."
I shake my head. So situation normal here. Good to know some things never change. Seriously, Owen Tudor is one of my favorite people, he's unflinchingly loyal to the monarchy which occasionally puts us on opposite sides, but I can't help but admire the man's character.
I progress on up to the visitor's quarters. The Welsh royal family will have an entire sitting room to themselves, a suite of apartments akin to what they occupy at home, haunted by an unnecessary amount of portraits of the English royal family portraying them as biblical figures. It's just one portrait of Henry and little Henry, hanging in the hall, but that's one too many. In my opinion. We all know what he looks like. It's kind of hard to forget. Also that is not what he looks like he has them paint him minus the scar, with a soul and often facial hair he doesn't have the patience to maintain.
As expected, everyone is gathered. Rhiannon is lying on a sofa with Lowri asleep in her lap, cuddled against her pregnant belly. Elis is lying on the other sofa face down, which is a mood to be honest. Dancer is loyally sitting above him holding a glass of wine for each of them. The Duke of Conwy is staring out the window and flipping a dagger in his fingers, idly.
I push Rhiannon's feet off the sofa to sit down, so she kicks me before putting them in my lap. I grin, leaning back on the sofa.
"So, Gareth says Gideon's planning to do something stupid," the Duke says, lightly. Gareth is housed with the rest of the staff, doesn't stop him from being with us most of the time, but he's probably slipped off to a pub at this hour.
"That's not news, Conwy," Rhiannon says, shoving me with her foot. I grin, fist in my mouth.
"No. Don't tell me. Please, I can't handle any more information today. Possibly tomorrow but likely not," Elis says, hands over the back of his head.
"Just some research, nothing to do with the safety of Wales, or King Henry for that matter; it's a pet project," I say.
"Are you going to get killed? Again?" Rhiannon asks.
"No," I say like it's completely ridiculous like I don't nearly die on a yearly basis and at one point actually died. I resurrected myself and I got a cool dragon it's completely fine.
"See that you don't," she says, pushing me with her feet.
"Yes, my lady," I say, tipping my head back.
"There see? Settled and I don't have to have my fifth nervous break down this week—oh god where's Lowri?" Elis asks, sitting up.
"Right here," all of us say.
"Came tumbling in about fifteen minutes before Gideon," Dancer clarifies.
"She misses us with long dinners like that," Rhiannon says, petting the little girl's hair.
"Not to bring up what I'm sure is a traumatic subject, but how was dinner?" I ask.
"I think it's what hell is like," the duke says.
"Horrendous, I forgot I'm cross with you as well! I lost six hours of my life watching Henry pretend to eat and drink and act like a human being while Courtenay stood two paces behind him. It's like, it wouldn't be so disturbing if they acted reliably like people, but they act like lethal predators doing a very good impression of people," Elis says, laying his head back down.
"That's—exactly it yeah," Rhiannon says.
"And how soon did all of you cut out?" Dancer prompts, pleasantly.
"Oh, two hours, said I was ill," Rhiannon says.
"I forgot I'm mad at you! You should have told me to come with you!" Elis says, tossing a pillow at her lightly. That basically sums up their relationship. They're about five years apart so not a massive age difference at twenty one and twenty five, but he treats her like a little sister. They get on fine, he knows he can't have kids so their relationship is just business, with a touch of gentle bickering. It's always been her job to get them heirs, so Elis could care less that he's not the child's biological father, he was never going to be. While some men might be a bit sexist about the situation, logically there's no other way it could go. And it looks good for Elis that she has children, considering that the two of them get on so well in public few dream he's not the father, so long as the child looks passably enough like the two of them. Again, it gives him street cred that he and his wife have a few children, so he can't complain. I mean, he can but he's not like that. It works out well for his public image and in name the kids are his. If the child should, regrettably, not look passably enough like the two of them then that means that we get to have a fake funeral for a still born baby, and one of Gareth's innumerable friends in town takes it in while he acts like its his, and he and I get to take care of it till it can be passed off as a page at the palace as one of ours. I am fine with that scenario personally, but I know Rhiannon would rather have the baby close so we're praying for red hair and blue eyes.
"It's not my fault you didn't realize you should attend to your ill wife," Rhiannon throws the pillow back at him. Like I said, they act like brother and sister. Also, to be abundantly clear she has not been ill the entire pregnancy so far; she's completely fine.
"Yes! Yes it is! You're supposed to realize things for me, we've discussed this," Elis says, letting the pillow hit him and not picking up his head, "Anyway, Jac cut out as well."
"How long did you last?" I ask.
"Felt like ages," the duke grunts.
"Five minutes," Rhiannon and Elis say, in unison.
"Sounds about right. We're doing brilliantly. All right I'm going to head out and do stupid shit," I say, preparing to get up.
"Stay, please?" Rhiannon sighs, "I'd sooner you be here, with us. I hate this castle."
"As you like, my enchantments are ridiculous though," I say, squeezing her foot. I know she has bad memories of the time we were imprisoned here. I was dead, she was locked up alone. We were fourteen and fifteen respectively and trying to break a fatal curse Courtenay laid on Elis. We lived, well I was already dead, but the portion of the experience where King Henry and Courtenay and about fifteen palace guards chased us around Windsor with drawn swords, was life changing. I mean, I was honored in that Henry V was personally trying to stab me, but, like, I get that it isn't the greatest memory for Rhiannon.
"How ridiculous?" Dancer, who knows me, cocks an eyebrow.
"As in, Courtenay is not going to be able to leave that damned set of offices till dawn, once he steps in which he should have by now, let alone be able to come in here, nor will any of the palace guards; I set it for us and Gareth," I say, lazily.
"Gideon, won't he get angry with you for doing that?" Elis asks, turning his head a little.
"My lord, anecdotal evidence suggests that there is a .5% chance he will actually try to leave that office room before dawn, let alone that hall," I say.
"Ew," Dancer says.
"I have spent far too many nights of my life watching him and King Henry get wine drunk and talk about plans to rule the world, I swear to god there's a globe they're slowly coloring in. I know none of you have seen it, but it's real, I have nightmares about it," I say. Daily I am thrilled Europe isn't aware of the Western Hemisphere's existence, because Henry would only want to conquer that too. Like, seriously, if he found out America is a thing he'd be like 'well I should own that as well', and then go do it. I briefly considered telling him just to get him on a different continent than the one my friends are on. It was college finals, I was stressed. Felt like a good plan. Sadie and Dancer hit me upside the head. Fun times.
"Thank you for your contributions to the Welsh resistance," Elis says, finally accepting a glass of wine to toast me with, "Now let's all just try to get some rest? It's a long day tomorrow we don't need to stress ourselves with 'what if' scenarios considering Henry is probably already doing all of them concurrently."
I realize it sounds like we blame Henry for everything, but like, consider nothing has ever not been his fault.
"And Gideon and I are staying up here, all night," the duke says. We have other rooms. We are not using them. I don't think, historically, I have once used the room I was intended to while staying here. Strictly speaking that's because I'm either spying on Henry, or falling asleep reading in the library.
"Precisely, so let's all try to get some rest. Gideon, can you be prevailed upon to talk about something that will put us all to sleep?" Elis asks.
"Always," I say, taking my fist out of my mouth, "I will never, not talk about something I personally find interesting."
"Brilliant and that will always put me to sleep," Elis says.
"We're not—moving?" Dancer asks, like he actually wanted to go to bed.
"I'm not," Elis says, face into the sofa.
Dancer rolls his eyes a little and goes to sit down on the end of it, heedless of Elis' legs.
"Go on, Gideon, tell us who's one of your favorite pirates, then? No, I won't make you pick a favorite," Elis says, not even moving at all or reacting to Dancer sitting on his legs.
"Ah—," I try to pick one before this actual time period. They're aware as a wizard I have knowledge of the past and future. They aren't aware that comes from Wikipedia, however. So I usually try to stick with the proper time period to avoid, you know, understandable confusion. "Hugh Despenser. He was a favorite of Edward II, and by all accounts an embezzler." We don't know how much of reports of his crimes were due to homophobia, but the man was married with several children so you know. "Anyway, after Edward II was overthrown, Hugh was not popular with the court, so he did what any logical person would do in that situation. He became a pirate in the English Channel, robbing merchants, we're going to assume the same merchants, over the course of a year. Edward III would pay some of his fines, so we're going to assume he found the situation funny."
"I've never heard of a pirate in the English Channel," Rhiannon says.
"Yeah, that's because he's the only person I'm aware of who chose to just do that after a, ah, break up," I say, making Dancer snort.
"What happened to him?" Elis asks, not like he's worried, but like he thinks this sounds like a viable thing to do and he wants more information.
"He got caught, by Isabela of Louvre and Roger Mortimer who were controlling Edward III's court 'cause he was a teenager. And they killed Hugh, by drawing and quartering, and cutting out his insides while he lived," I wince a little.
"Oh, I read about this," the Duke says, nodding.
"Where?" Elis asks, fully sitting up to argue with his brother.
"No, it's fine go on Gid, tell us more about how they killed this Englishman," the duke says, amiably.
"Hugh tried to starve himself to death to avoid his inevitable torture, didn't work," I say.
"No, seriously, I really want to know, where do you just read about how someone horrifically died?" Elis asks.
"You probably don't want to know that though," Rhiannon says but they ignore her.
"The Duke of Exeter, he's constable of the tower here. They have record books of particularly enjoyable executions, he thought it would interest me. It did," the Duke of Conwy says. The Duke of Exeter is King Henry's first cousin, John Holland, father of the little scrap I found armed with two knives, Henry Holland. They're an equally cruel, evil bloodline I like them on principal that every single one of them is metal as hell. However. They're not like very overly safe to be out. John Holland and our Duke of Conwy, as fellow sadists and torture professionals, get along pretty well due to shared sociopathy.
"That's completely disgusting, do you keep records like that?" Elis asks.
"You know you don't like blood, El."
"Oh my god please do not," Elis lies down face in the sofa, "That's disgusting, we're meant to be more civilized than the English."
"Can't have everything," Rhiannon who doesn't mind torture.
"We are. My torture devices are far superior to theirs that's why I read his records. To check that we're more effective and cruel, which we are," the Duke says. He's really proud of our torture machines, most of which we rescued after Harlech burned down. I'm not not fond of them. I don't witness torture but I find the methods and machinery intriguing. I admit I'm a weapons nerd of the worst kind.
"Glad we're talking about this, really, I'll sleep so well," Dancer says.
"We know we weren't going so sleep anyway," Rhiannon says.
"I was!" Dancer says.
"I know more or less about how they tortured Despenser," I say, quietly.
"Ah good we can compare what they wrote down," the duke legitimately gets out notes.
"WHY WOULD YOU COPY THAT?"
"Apparently he lived a long time. I can't have them break my record."
"RECORD OF WHAT?"
"This is distressing the baby; please change the topic," Rhiannon says.
"I heard that," Elis mutters, knowing damn well she meant him.
"Good," she says, laughing.
"Record of how long they stay alive, of course," the Duke says, bringing the paper.
"Oh pretty sure that's an exaggeration, our record stands," I say, glancing at the paper.
"I'M SEPARATING ALL THREE OF YOU!"
"That's what I thought, but I wanted unbiased opinions, my lady," the duke shows the paper to Rhiannon.
"Oh, no, that doesn't beat our record, I wrote it down at home," Rhiannon says.
"I need to make you go to church more. Or something. All three of you," Elis growls, so tired of us.
"In our defense, Henry shouldn't send spies to Wales if he wants them back in more than seven pieces," I say. Henry doesn't know we did it. He thinks we did. Which is right. But he doesn't have proof. "However, I admit I didn't need to drag a grown man by the leg into the dungeon saying 'brought you a snack' I've come to realize that was weird."
"I thought it was funny, Gid," the Duke says, grinning at the memory.
"So did I," Rhiannon, who was down there for knife practice and saw it, and laughed because she thinks I'm funny.
"I DIDN'T," Elis, who regrettably found out that, yes, we are all as bad as the other.
"I admit I shouldn't have told you like you'd think it was funny," Rhiannon says.
"Dancer, we're making them all go to church next week," Elis says, putting his head down.
"I don't really fancy it—,"
"I think I have plans—,"
"I'll be ill with child—,"
"Shut up."