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

Chapter 13: The Curse

Gideon
I pop home to the 21st century for the first time in months, to do some much needed research from the comfort of my room at Dancer's house. Nobody actually knows I'm there, so I do my research, check the news, eat a packet of Oreos, shower, take several ibuprofen, text my step sister and answer a few old texts, then return to Windsor. Rhiannon finds out I'm legally drunk and just puts me under Gareth's care to fall asleep and sober up, because he has the most experience with hangovers. I am actually really tired apparently and don't know it.
"Sit there on the bed, start telling me your favorite story about a dead person," Gareth says, picking up his mattress and pushing me down on the bare bed base.
"Okay, why though? Do I have to pick a favorite? Oh, have I told you about the time Edward I escaped captivity by asking to 'test ride' a horse and just riding off?" I ask, sitting down obediently.
"No, if you did I don't remember tell it again."
"Okay so—," as I say that, he throws the mattress on top of me.
"Are you putting me to bed?" I ask, lying underneath it.
"Yes," crawling on top of the mattress to keep me down, "Is it not working?"
"Yeah, definitely do you still want to hear about Edward Longshanks?"
"Sure," almost definitely plugging up his ears.
Anyway, I pass out within like five minutes. I don't wake up again till evening. Gareth comes and fetches me, offering hang over cures or food. Hang over cures are more wine, in case you were wondering. I accept a cup of wine for my headache, then follow him to the kitchens. I eat with the Longbowmen, in all likelihood I was not invited to dinner as it was. I'm technically the help, so I'll eat with the soldiers. Not the noble folk. In Wales it's much the same thing. Dinner in the hall of the king is something of a political status, and many monarchs hold dinners with their courtiers and whatever visiting nobles. That's not to say there aren't private family dinners as well, as always that all depends on the monarch. Perhaps the children eat earlier so the monarch might sit with them and actually eat, then go to the court dinner just to talk. Or if they were more reclusive the monarch might not at all hold court dinners and might simply prefer to eat with their spouse and/or children, or a few favorites. Edward II and III had fair numbers of children, cousins, spouses there of, as well as favored courtiers, so those might often be more feasts than private dinners. Monarchs like Richard III, or a bit Henry VI, will keep to themselves more, having private dinners with their wife and not engaging overly in court life. Of course for some it's more practical, as above, Edward III had a large family and many grandchildren so, you know, plenty of people about. For someone like Richard II, then that's literally all his friends, like, his cousins and such and other young courtiers he doesn't have a big family not a lot of other people to talk to, though he may have had a few private dinners with his mother or brothers.
In our Henry V's case, since he's making a rare little trip home, he's likely filling his hall in order to socialize with his home courtiers. I am going to assume he doesn't like it, given he spends as much time as possible on campaign. But he's enough of a statesman to know it's necessary, and he needs great feasts to invite everyone over in order to do a little healthy fundraising for his latest campaign. He's popular and charming if he wants to be (never seen it personally, I've read about it though). Just kidding. He's perfectly able to smooth talk his way around his nobles. It's his chief talent next to invading places and preventing anyone from questioning why he velcroed Courtenay to himself.
So, on a night like tonight, Henry's court is likely full. He has us over. He might have other nobles as well staying the night Windsor is huge, we won't see them. Ergo I wouldn't be invited to something like that. I'm not anyone, like Courtenay who likely absented himself as well. He's an Archbishop, but, that's not a noble. Henry might have excused him in, but he doesn't always.
So I am happy enough to eat with the longbowmen. We speak in Welsh and sing old songs in Welsh, which clearly irritates the English soldiers who naturally can't understand us. We sing 'Little Saucepan', in Welsh of course:
"Mae bys Meri-Ann wedi brifo,
A Dafydd y gwas ddim yn iach.
Mae'r baban yn y crud yn crio,
A'r gath wedi sgrapo Joni bach.
Sosban fach yn berwi ar y tân,
Sosban fawr yn berwi ar y llawr,
A'r gath wedi sgrapo Joni bach.
Dai bach y sowldiwr,
Dai bach y sowldiwr,
Dai bach y sowldiwr,
A gwt ei grys e mas.
Mae bys Meri-Ann wedi gwella,
A Dafydd y gwas yn ei fedd;
Mae'r baban yn y crud wedi tyfu,
A'r gath wedi huno mewn hedd.
Sosban fach yn berwi ar y tân
Sosban fawr yn berwi ar y llawr
A'r gath wedi huno mewn hedd,"
In English that's
"Mary-Ann has hurt her finger,
And David the servant is not well.
The baby in the cradle is crying,
And the cat has scratched little Johnny.
A little saucepan is boiling on the fire,
A big saucepan is boiling on the floor,
And the cat has scratched little Johnny.
Little Dai the soldier,
Little Dai the soldier,
Little Dai the soldier,
And his shirt tail is hanging out.
Mary-Ann's finger has got better,
And David the servant is in his grave;
The baby in the cradle has grown up,
And the cat is 'asleep in peace'.
A little saucepan is boiling on the fire,
A big saucepan is boiling on the floor,
And the cat is 'asleep in peace' ".
Naturally we don't sing it in English let 'em think we were singing about revolution or something. It's funny to us this way. We sing and eat and drink and they glare at us and anyway it's the little things.
I'm planning to just go and find my Welsh court and see what's going on. Elis likely had to meet with a couple of English nobles, maybe even King Henry but probably not. Queen Catherine might have met with them both. I'll be happy to hear about that. She broke a family tradition and was nice to us. Joking, Prince Harry is nice to us but Prince Harry is nice to everyone so it doesn't count. Anyway, I'll see if they need anything then probably go entertain myself with my books which apparently just live in Courtenay's office. Courtenay has these adorable completely useless spells he thinks stop me from walking where I want. They do not.
I'm on my way to do that, when a messenger finds me.
"My lord, His Royal Highness Prince Henry requests your presence," a steward informs me, looking at me a bit disdainfully.
"Yes, of course, um, thanks," yes yes, all this knowledge of customs and courtesies and I still feel awkward when people are calling me 'my lord' and the like.
The steward gives me directions to the appropriate room and I'm off. Normally they should show me the way, but I'm not that noble. Half these people have helped chase me around the palace a couple of times I get it. I do. 
I make my way to the private apartments, which surprises me honestly. I assumed he'd be in his office or the library, but no. Perhaps his mother did wind up sending him to bed what with the head injury? And now he wants an ally who will bring him a book when everyone else got ordered not to? That's very in character.
I knock on the appropriate door, hesitantly.
"Come in!"
"Come in!"
I step into a private sitting room, a couple of sofas, a fire, Owen Tudor lying face down on the floor. Very typical.
Queen Catherine is sitting by the fire, reading. Her eldest child, pride and joy, is smacking the back of the sofa.
"Good evening your majesty, your highness," I say, bowing deeply.
"Harry, why did you want that?" Queen Catherine asks, clearly referring to me.
"Hello, Gideon! Lady mother, he's helping me with something."
"Is that something abusing the furniture?" She asks, as he continues manhandling the sofa she's sitting on.
"Yes, actually," Prince Harry says, cheerfully.
I know I shouldn't ask but, "Is he all right?" I point to Owen Tudor, Henry's loyalest steward, who's almost definitely having an affair with the Queen.
"Yes, he's fine!"
"He's happy."
Mumbled grunts of protest.
"What was that, Tudor?" Queen Catherine asks, with zero sympathy.
"He's given up on reality. Edmund bit him in the neck. He says nothing can happen to him if he stays there. I said a prayer for him, mother laughed," Prince Harry says, cheerfully, kneeling to fondle the sofa some more, "Come here. I need your help."
"Ah," I step around Owen delicately.
"He'll recover I assume. Am I going to get to know why you selected one of the Welshmen to come and destroy furniture? Or is it going to be a surprise for when your father decides to dishonestly explain it to me?" Queen Catherine asks.
"You're very disdainful of our Welsh cousins, mother. They're our kinsmen. What's more we're all children of god," Harry grunts, trying to rip apart the sofa or something.
"Do you—give your father these little lectures?"
"Often!"
"Hm, didn't think anything could help him."
"Anyway, we should be kind to them. Gideon is our friend, he's saved my life. And anyway, Tudor's a Welshman as well and he's been here forever," Harry reasons, as I come to join him.
"I am choosing not to exist also I do not claim any kinship to that one," Owen says, finally picking his head up. He's got child bite marks on his face and neck.
"Love you too, Owen," I mutter, kneeling down with Harry who has now climbed completely beneath the sofa.
"And they're all sarcastic. Every one. I'm just going to die. That's it. One of them is going to kill me; my money's on the Exeter's boy, but it honestly could be any of them," Owen lays his head back down.
"Harry, I notice you got out of saying what on earth you're doing. This is my sitting room," his mother says.
"I'm sorry, Lady mother, but, I know how the Archbishop's mind works—got it!" Harry cries, triumphantly,  mostly underneath the sofa.
"What are we doing—? He cut secret compartments in the furniture?" I ask, lying down.
"No, father did to hide jewels and things in case we were invaded or the like, so we could save ourselves. Well, father didn't do it personally he had it done. And I know the Archbishop was about hiding half his good books before you came because he says you go in his office all the time and touch his things," Harry explains casually.
"Well, half those things were my things to begin with so," I mutter, sliding under the sofa too, leaning next to him. Sure enough, there's a compartment underneath fashioned under the seat.
"Oh. Good. When did he do this? Do I want to know?" Queen Catherine asks.
"He said he did it before he went to France to get married because he didn't trust the people that might come back with his new wife," Harry says, very practically. In case it wasn't clear that would be Harry's mum, Queen Catherine. Henry's new wife whom he was speaking of became Harry's mum. And Harry absolutely knows this.
"That—is distinctly in character. You do realize you're talking about me?" His mother, not even surprised.
"Yes, but I'm just relaying what he said—I can't get it—is it enchanted or something, Gideon?"
"Yeah, likely, let me," I say, fiddling with the latch.
"Tudor, did you know there's compartments in half of our furniture? You worked here then."
"Yes. Yes I've been here since the beginning of time. And I'm currently clearing my mind of all rational thought till it's empty. That way I can better survive reality. So no. At the moment. I know nothing at all. That is by design," Owen, not lifting his head to answer his queen, "One of these days I'm going to die and one member of this family will have killed me and I'll just be relieved."
"Also in character. Harry, when did he tell you this?"
"Before his Spanish campaign, so I could hide things if he came back with a spanish bride for me who we didn't trust. I said I wanted us both to trust my wife. You notice I'm not married," Harry mutters.
"Am I honored he still doesn't trust me. Or am I offended?" Queen Catherine asks.
"I don't think he trusts me. Just with jewels, but then not even with that because I said the books were more important I'd hide those. So I got off the duty all together," Harry says.
"Okay—got it," I say, finally undoing the enchantments.
"Yes!" Harry reaches in and pulls out a couple of books, happily, "I knew it!"
"Two of those were originally mine, I got them from Oisin, ugh, I hate him," I sigh, as we both slide back out from under the sofa.
"Are you talking about your monarch, Gideon?" The Queen asks.
"No, the Archbishop," I say, cheerfully, climbing to my feet.
"Oh, carry on then," she says, going back to her reading.
"Here, that's all I needed, sorry to disturbed you Lady Mother, do you want me to take Tudor anywhere?" Harry asks.
"No, he'll recover. Or not. Tudor, do you want to go with your countryman and my son who are apparently destroying furniture?" The Queen asks.
"Not my countryman," Owen mutters.
"Cer i grafu," I say, smiling at Owen. It's Welsh for 'go away', but it's a slang insult, so it's mildly profane. Kind of like 'screw off' or something of that kind in English. But in Welsh it directly means 'go scratch yourself', which doesn't sound bad, but it's lightly rude. I'm saying it because I know he knows it, and I'm calling him out, yeah you are my countryman, in the end, you not only can speak Welsh but you know what this means.
"Diawl bach," Owen says, but barely audibly. That's a bit more serious insult, it means 'little devil', but while in English we'll say that affectionately it's not affectionate, it's demeaning. Diawl alone has a much heavier connotation unlike in English. It means Devil, but in Welsh it's like a higher level of profanity, R rated as it were. So naturally I'm thrilled. It's the first time he's properly responded to me in Welsh and admitted he speaks it. Which I know he does.
"So he's good where he is?" Harry asks, pointing at him, "He doesn't look well."
"I'm keeping him here in case your brothers try to sneak about. Go along now, I wouldn't dream of keeping you from disrupting something your father is attempting to accomplish," Queen Catherine says, dryly.
"Lady Mother," Harry bows and so do I, murmuring a, "Your Majesty."
Then we depart, quickly, Harry with the books clutched to his chest.
"Edmund bit poor Tudor a couple of times, so did the Exeter's Harry," Harry explains. The Exeters have a son, about Edmund's age, who is also named Henry, likely for the King, but since he goes by Harry, then we'll call him the Exeter's Harry, or the like, as opposed to 'our Harry' or 'our Prince Harry'. That saves trouble of anyone going by the same name too much. In theory, fathers and sons who have the same name would be solved in a similar manner. We're, unfortunately, never going to know what exact terms of endearment family members used. But if say Queen Catherine voluntarily talked to her husband, she might call him Henry or Hal, and then their son Harry. Similarly, Henry V's father, probably wound up getting called Harry, so he probably didn't call his son that. Especially when several people were addressing or speaking about father and son, John of Gaunt, Richard II, both would have referred to both Henry's, ergo in all likelihood, one was always Harry and the other always Hal, and so on.  Same thing with the Edward's, Edward II and Edward III, were around together, and the Black Prince was also named Edward, so the wives, that is the mums, would probably call their husband Edward/Ed and then the son Ned/Eddie or even Teddy. Something like that. Again, we're never really going to know as all letters left were in formal address.  But they were all people same as us, and likely avoided confusion simply by using different nick names. In english tradition, this may or may not have even had anything to do with their name. Even in modern day English school boys who all have the same name will go by all manner of nick names, for whatever convoluted reason. As an example, England's 21st century Prince George, was called PG by his classmates, and apparently that got diluted to 'Tips' for the tea brand which is PG Tips. So yeah, we have no idea where these things could have originated or the like. Richard III we know he was called the 'The Boar' (metal), but not why, or where it started, like his father was named Richard there's every possibility maybe his parents and siblings called him 'boar' and not his name, due to a childhood joke, and it stuck. Some theories point to it being a shortening of 'Eborcum' which is Latin for York, which got shortened to 'Ebor' and then just 'boar'. Similarly, Richard II we think was called 'Hart' from the second part of 'Rich-hard' because in an English accent it sounds a bit like Hart. Anyway, nicknames start all kinds of ways Edward I was called 'Longshanks' as a kid because he was so long legged, I mean he was always tall at six foot one. Point being, lots of these guys could have gone by monikers we don't know about.
In our case, I don't technically know the exact arrangement. Prince Henry has always been called Harry by his dad and Courtenay, and some people will call him Prince Henry, but his mother was calling him Harry too. So, she likely doesn't call his father that. And I'm going to assume Henry doesn't think of himself as Harry given he chooses to call his son that.
I'm assuming Henry, besides his actual name, goes by Hal. Once and only once, that I've heard, Courtenay called him that. And Courtenay is the closest thing he has to a friend, who would be using a name and not a title. Queen Catherine has only used a name a few times but she calls him Henry. That could be partly to keep up the habit though they're usually in public so she might be intentionally being more formal. Also they aren't friends nor do they spend enough time together to develop a nick name. I've met Henry's two living brothers, briefly, but they didn't use any direct address either. Not that I heard, but they wouldn't call him anything like a pet name not in public. In private they probably would, but I haven't witnessed it. Anyway, by all that, I am assuming our King Henry does or did go by Hal when he was a boy, and later a prince. Likely, that distinction was made because his father went by Harry, so his grandad and cousins and mum probably called him Hal for simplicity. His brothers and Courtenay would be only people to retain that, however.
Point being, we usually know who we mean even if everyone has the same name. But as a rule we try to distinguish.
"What did you say to Tudor, in Welsh?" Harry asks, as we reach the stairs.
"Oh, um, nothing polite, told him to shove off. He cussed me," I explain, quickly. Our prince is not fond of cursing. "I had reason to think he spoke Welsh. I feel a bit bad. He's been away from Wales, so long, bit of internalized imperialism there. It's lovely he's happy working here."
"I don't think he's happy."
"Fair. But, point being he clearly doesn't want to come home but, doesn't do anyone any good denying who you are," I say. Growing up, I'm Mexican obviously, but like, I don't speak spanish, never learned, wasn't even being raised by my birth parents. So people at school would always ask me if I spoke Spanish, ask if my name was Spanish. And growing up in a mostly white school for a while, I was ashamed. The only Mexican people I knew were poorer than us. I didn't want to be Mexican. I'd deny it and say no I wasn't so people would stop asking. Now of course I have a richer understanding of culture and while I don't speak the language or the like, I've mostly unlearned the self-hatred racism breeds. Yeah, bet you didn't know it was possible to be racist against yourself. It is, institutionalized racism is a bitch. Point being, I feel bad for Owen. He does speak our language and he's denied his heritage for years, going so far as to anglicize his name.
"Of course not. We're glad to have you here with us, if we all work together we can be stronger, and protect each other that's why alliances are important. I've studied some Gaelic for when I go to Scotland this fall, and I ought to devote myself to Welsh next."
"Well, you have some good Welsh language books in your library," I mutter.
"Saints alive I told him to give those back!"
"He did not."
We're talking about his father, who stole many of our books some six years ago. He was supposed to give them back. He did not.
"I'll talk to him again," Harry sighs.
"I wouldn't recommend wasting your strength, Highness," I say, as we reach his office.
"You're very defeatist tonight. After I've done some very nice research," Harry says, cheerfully, petting a couple of his dogs, "There, I told you I'd be back. Good Argo," he kisses the one's nose.
"Hmm, so have I, what have you found?" I ask, coming over to his desk.
"The Beggar's Tomb," he says, turning around a book towards me, "Here. It references curses in this book, here, and the history, here, that's why I needed the ones the Archbishop hid."
"Ah," I pull the chair forward. There's in one book, an illustration of the tomb, as well as copies of coins from it.
Harry lays an actual coin down on the desk. It matches the book.
"What—," I frown.
"The last known recorded exploration of the Beggar's Tomb, was by Richard the Lionheart. He, eventually, brought some of the treasure back to England. Most of it's locked away, some was more accessible, like this," he taps the coin.
"Ah—so our Kit was raiding the tomb, what, something like three hundred years ago?" I confirm.
"Correct, he's just—bopping about," Harry says, pointing to the chart we drew last night, "Here, it has the nature of the curse of the tomb."
"Which is?" I ask.
"It was first mentioned in stories of Macedonian conquest, that sort of thing. It's likely somewhere outside of Greece. The wording on the tomb is written there," he says, pushing forward one of (my) books.