Days of the Dead Book 2: The Beggar's Tomb

Chapter 6: New Allies

Gideon
The convent is well out of London. Cold, and secluded. My general sympathy for Harry is still there, but these boys clearly have the worse lot. I was abandoned yes, but that's entirely different from your parent dying and finding out both your parents were lying to you your whole life. And some brother they never met is in charge of them. They're feeling betrayed by everyone and they had to leave their home, all while being told that their existence is a secret and wrong and all that. They didn't do anything wrong, but they're being made to feel like they did.
I tie up my pony before walking up the cobble stones to the convent door. A couple of cats scurry away. It's cold, just about to snow looks like. The place is more of a keep than a castle, it's only a couple of stories, with a chapel and sprawling grounds. As a rule, convents will often house women, of all classes, and children, who are homeless or on the run from an abusive spouse or the like.
Ergo, I, an adult man, am not met with kindness when one of the sisters opens the door.
"I'm here from Windsor, to visit the Tudor boys," I say, showing a ring with the royal seal. Never mind why I have that. I'm just saying if Courtenay actually used it then he'd have noticed it was gone by now. It's been two years. If he left King Henry's side he might need it, but he doesn't so he doesn't.
"On what business?" The sister asks, not moving.
"Their father sent me, I'm a Welshman," I say, moving my jacket to show the welsh dragon on my shirt.
"They'll speak in little else," she scoffs, a little disgusted, "Come in."
I resist muttering something about it being their native language, and follow her in. The entire nunnery is dimly lit with sparse candles. Waste not want not.
"One is in the chapel, saying his prayers still. The other is in his room. They were caught stealing food," she says, primly.
"Ah, thank you," I nod, as she stops at the door of the chapel. Why were they needing to steal food? They're like six and nine or somewhere in there they're hungry? I don't say all that though. "It'll be private. Thank you."
The nun nods, leaving slowly and glancing at me like she doesn't fully trust me but also isn't that concerned with preserving the child. I smile politely and bow a bit, before stepping into the chapel.
It's got the most candles lit. Nice graphic crucifix, got to love that Catholic guilt. It's totally quiet except for a drip of a leak from the ceiling. I step forward, slowly, not seeing any children. Well, she said only one was here. Possibly escaped? Good for him?
No, there in the front most pew. Folded up like a pretzel, a tiny little scrap of a boy, with red brown hair, sitting in the pew definitely in a way it was not meant to be sat in. As I step closer, I see his face is set in a frown, copper brown eyes staring forward refusing to look at whoever is approaching. He's wearing simple, white clothes that look rough and a size too big, and he's all folded up in them in a manner that makes it unclear if he has bones. And on his soft little face I see the deep red birthmark, stretching across most of his left cheek, and down his neck. Jasper Tudor. I met him some twenty five years in the future, so I recognize him if only by the marks. Nothing contagious, it is just a birth mark, but likely the nuns view it as a sign of the devil. It's not, obviously. Our Jasper is a tough sort, he's last man standing and ends the War of the Roses, eventually becoming unshakably loyal to his royal older brother, a clever strategist and bold warrior, he won't go down in a lot of history books though he'll remain one of Wales' favorite sons.
But right now he's all of maybe eight, and just lost his mum, and his little life got very confusing, very fast.
I sit down at the end of the pew, carefully. I know he heard me approach but is refusing to acknowledge me.
"Hello," I say, leaning forward a little.
"Mynd i ffwrdd saesneg, coc oen," he says, under his breath. That's welsh for 'go away english person I'm insulting as heavily as I can'. I'm not directly translating it not polite these are meant to be family stories and your mum or your dad or your version of Gareth wouldn't let you read it if I translated that.
"As you like, drwegi," I say, smiling a little. That's welsh slang for 'smelly dog', it's slightly profane but it's more along the lines of 'okay asshole' , it's not like, as bad as what he said. But it proves I knew what he said and I know Welsh.
He tips his head to look at me, still frowning, then says in French, "Do you speak French as well, English bastard?"
"Yes. And I'm not English. I'm a Welshman, I know your dad, and I've met your mum," I say, in French. I'm getting slightly better at telling when the ring is automatically translating for me, and I have succeeded in controlling it so I can switch mid conversation.
"I don't have a mum and dad," he says, in French, staring forward.
"Your mum teach you French, and your dad Welsh?" I ask. There's something awfully sad in that. Both of them in a foreign land, taught their babies their native tongue. Does he not speak English?
"Leave me alone," he says, looking over at me again, eyes flashing red with magic, "I'll curse you."
"I'd like to see you try, dwt sorcerer," I smile. Dwt is welsh for 'small', akin to the Scottish word 'wee'. 'Bach' actually means small but this is a modifier. So it's diminutive but affectionate.
He's about to take me up on that when a nun enters and sees us clearly talking.
"No talking in the chapel," she admonishes, in French.
Jasper gasps, putting his hands over his mouth, looking at me then at her, and whispers, in obvious awe, "You can see him too?"
I love this kid. "I don't make these appearances often sister, you understand," I say, standing up and letting white light glow in my eyes.
"Thank you, Jesus," Jasper says, collapsing at my feet, "You saved me."
Yeah, the nun screams and runs away.
"Come on, she'll come back, come on," I say, motioning for Jasper to bolt with me out the door and into a courtyard. We're both giggling uncontrollably by the time we get out.
"Did you see her face?" He laughs, hands to his puffy cheeks.
"I did, we're terrible—sorry," I look skyward, "Let's hope god has a sense of humor eh?"
"If he didn't I wouldn't be alive," Jasper says, dryly, his smile fading, he looks over at me seriously, "Jasper Tudor. Good to meet you."
"Gideon Saint," I say, "The honor is most definitely mine."
"What are you doing here?" He asks, frowning, "And how do you speak Welsh?"
"I am a Welshman. I'm Wales' court wizard. I met your father at Windsor a few times, and your mother. I was very sorry to hear of her passing."
He scuffs his foot in the dirt, sticking his hands in his pockets. As he does I see the backs of them are red and nearly bloody from lashes.
"The nuns do that to your hands?" I ask.
"I was taking food. I was hungry. They all think I'm marked by the devil. I nearly cursed them when they did it to Eddie. But our father said if we did any of that he'd lash us himself. You can't tell anyone," he looks over at me quickly, "I wasn't really going to curse you. Well I probably was—,"
"I won't," I say, smiling a little, "I'm fine. I wouldn't tell on you to your father—I'm not your father's favorite person as it happens. I usually wind up causing him more work when I'm around."
"So do I," Jasper says, hanging his head a little. He's barely older than Lowri. It's nearly tea time he should be in recounting the day's adventures getting fed and chatted to. Not standing out here in the cold with bloody hands.
"Do you know everything?" He asks.
"Pretty much. I know your mother was queen. But she really loved your dad. And she kept you and your brother away from court. I know she passed a couple of days ago," I say, kindly.
"They didn't let me see her. Her ladies said she was ill and then they said she was dead. And then our father told us the truth. That's she's queen and the king will want to kill us," he says.
"The king wants to kill lots and lots of people, including me. I don't even think you're top forty to be honest," I say.
"Really?" He asks, biting his lip.
"Yeah, I don't—I think you're down there with people who insult that hair cut he has a forty year attachment to, to be honest, like he's got lots of people in Europe he's trying to kill. We're going to be fine," I say. Also he has to die soon here, like eventually, doesn't he?
"Okay," he says, scuffing his foot in the dirt, "Did my dad send you?"
"No," I say, as nicely as possible, "He does everything he can not to talk to me."
"Who did?" He frowns.
"Your brother actually—Prince Henry? He's the one who arranged for you two to stay here. And he's very busy but he asked me to come and make sure you were both all right," I say.
"Really? He doesn't hate us?" He asks, frowning, "He has to hate us. Everyone hates us."
"No, you didn't do anything wrong. And if anyone in this world recognizes that it'll be our Prince Henry. He was going to come and see you himself, but he's as shocked as you right now. He didn't know about you anymore than you did about him, and he's just lost his mum as well so he's more than a bit scattered. But he wanted to make sure you were all right," I say.
"So he's locking us up here forever? It's a new cage then?" Jasper asks, quietly.
"Not forever no—," I was about to say 'you have to understand' but he doesn't have to understand anything. He's a child and his mother's dead and he's being locked up for crimes his parents committed. "—just for now. With your mother's death there's things that have to be done legally, there's a lot, visitors come about. This is all new for everyone but—your brother plans to make sure you get proper educations under your father's guidance. You can be his sons. Let rumors die down and there will be little question who your mother was, trust me."
"Father doesn't want us," Jasper says, "When they were taking us away we tried to curse them. And he did lash us himself then because our mother was gone and couldn't do it. He said if he caught me doing witchcraft again he'd skin me, and he hasn't actually caught me, but I've not stopped so he will."
"Well, I don't care what he thinks, I'll teach you magic myself if you want. And your brother the Prince knows you both have magic your father told him. I told your brother if he liked and your father doesn't care, you can come back to Wales with me and stay at our court. I and my fellow wizards can teach you magic and you can spar with our kids," I say. Again I'm not worried about him knowing about Lowri he's got his own secrets plus the way history goes he's always in on the known unknowns and the unknown unknowns.
"Really?" He asks, hopefully, "I want to learn magic."
"If your dad and brother say yes, yeah. And if they don't and you're miserable, also yeah. Wales is always your home," I say.
"Why are you being nice to us?" He frowns a little.
"Because I would want someone to be kind to my son, if he were where you're standing. And because once I was pretty close to where you're at, and people were kind to me," I say.
"You have a son?" He frowns.
"I'm—mostly responsible for several balls of trouble, actually, all use magic. I'm happy to adopt you as well, it's kind of our thing," I say, "I know what it feels like—when no one seems to want you. My birth mother abandoned me when I was a baby. People took me in but—they didn't care to handle who I was. And it hurts. It hurts a lot when people fail you. Because people are awful. We're weak, and we're selfish, and we're wicked, and we're flawed, Overall we are such a grossly overrated species. And we let each other down. All the time, and that can eat you up inside. But more often than not, especially with people, like parents, who were meant to be there for us. The thing to remember is, perhaps they loved as much as they could. That was all the love they had in them to give. It simply wasn't enough. So we find it other places, eventually, something to fill up the space, new friends, a new family. One day you'll have perhaps a family of your own, however that looks. And you'll look at some boy who puts his faith in you and hope your love was enough. I truly believe your mother did love you, Jasper. Just like my mother loved me, but all the love my mother had was to give me up that was the best she could do for me. That's all right, we can't give more than we have in us. I do believe your mother loved you the very best she could, and that has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with her."
He nods, tears running down my cheeks, "I just don't know why she lied to me. It makes me feel like I'm trash or something. She was ashamed of us."
"If it helps, I think you and your brother and your dad, are more the life she wanted. That will make—infinite sense if and when you go to court. But. I'm not here to justify her or your dad's actions you're allowed to be hurt as you want as long as you want. You're also allowed to heal and that's at your own pace as well," I say.
He nods, scrubbing his cheek with one hand. There's blood dripping down his fingers. They lashed his palms as well. I shudder, "Where's your brother?"
"Doing something cataclysmically stupid that will never work," Jasper mumbles.
"What?" I ask.
He points to a rooftop of one of the convent buildings, where sure enough a scrawny child with a rucksack is sneaking along the roof tiles, Assassin's Creed style, about to jump to another roof.
"Our mother used to say I'm the only child she birthed who has common sense," Jasper says, nodding.
"She's like—mostly right. Your oldest brother has common sense. Just no self preservation," I mutter.
"Really? What's he like?"
"If you condensed the Bible into a person who looks like an actual baby lamb."
"That makes no sense."
"It will when you meet him, let's go help your brother."
We jog to the end of the L-shaped nunnery, where a tiny angry Welsh child is trying to leap from one tiled roof to the other. He fails, naturally, just managing to catch hold of the edge of the slick roof. This leaves him dangling, rucksack precariously hanging off one arm, as he struggles to get a grip.
"You're such an IDIOT, Eddie," Jasper sighs.
"Just let go, I'll catch you," I say.
"No, you pervert," Edmund snarls, trying to pull himself up and failing.
"With magic, twpsyn, " I say, that's a welsh word for idiot, similar to the one his brother just used in French. To be clear, I'm standing here hands on my hips was never not going to catch the kid with magic.
Edmund is not about to let go and is busy cursing me in Welsh, when he just loses his grip and falls. Jasper and I both move to catch him with magic, and more than cushion his fall. The boy rolls the ground, glaring at us. He's fair haired, but a deeper blonde than his father, and has blue eyes like his father does. Both boys look the spitting image of their mum though, for little boys. They have round plump cheeks, quick soft smiles, and the same set to their eyes. I suppose they'll resemble their father more once they're grown but for the moment not much.
"What do you think you're doing?" Jasper asks his big brother, folding his arms. Now to be clear, I like Jasper fine, he's cool. Edmund not so much, I know two things about him, historically speaking. One, he's twenty something, marries a thirteen year old and gets her pregnant. Two, he does support Henry VI unwaveringly. Okay, well technically I also know he dies of the plague before meeting the son he fathered. All that means he grows up to be a pedophile so yes. That's there. To be clear, yes child marriages did occur. It was considered bad form to consummate that marriage before the younger party's sixteenth birthday. Edward III and his wife would have their first son when he was seventeen, similarly Henry V himself would be born when his mother was just sixteen to seventeen, despite his parents having been married minimum a year, maximum three years (there's some weirdness with the license, I keep finding differing reports when I dig, the license was gotten by his grandfather and it was dated as after the wedding and I've come upon a couple different dates for it). Anyway point being, ignore Henry VIII propaganda, pedophilia has never been cool or accepted.
"Running away. Don't worry, I was going to come back for you, after I'd made my fortune," Edmund says, confidently, brushing himself off, "Anyway, who's Pric pwdin?" That's welsh for 'an idiot/the idiot' but it's more profane than that, like a good bit. It's not at all polite.
"I don't really know, but we bonded by being shitty to Sister Margaurite together and now he's my friend," Jasper says.
"Gideon Saint, pleased to meet you, Edmund," I say, smiling nicely, "I've been chatting with your brother. I hear you boys are hungry?"
Edmund frowns, "Why should we believe you?"
"He's fine," Jasper says.
"Yeah like you'd know," Edmund says, "You said dad liked us now look where we're at."
"I think your dad does like you Eddie. Your dad is permanently going through a lot," I say, "Now, do you two want to chat and have something to eat?"
"You don't have food," Edmund says.
"No, but once I met God, and I think she'd want me robbing a nunnery kitchen to feed two hungry boys," I say.
It's less robbery but more extortion. When the nuns aren't reasonable and accuse me of impersonating Jesus, I just lock them out, load my arms with treats, and return to the boys in the garden. Jasper acts like he hasn't eaten in days, actually smiling and wiping away his tears when I supply him with pies. Edmund is equally hungry, but less trusting.
"I know your dad told you two not to use magic. But if you're protecting yourselves, then it's all right. I'll vouch for you, you send a message to me all right?" I ask, getting some bits of paper from my pocket.
"These are to the Welsh court," Edmund frowns, looking at the envelopes I've given him.
"Yes, they'll find me," I wish I had an amulet to give them, but I didn't come prepared for this. "Now, you don't have to stay here long. One way or another we'll get you out. You're both always welcome in Wales."
"Our father would worry," Jasper says.
"He doesn't care or he would have left us here," Edmund says.
"I'm not justifying your father's actions to you. But I do believe he's frightened for you. And I know it's hard, but besides between yourselves and me you cannot talk about who your mum was. You can talk about having a mum but no one needs know she was the Queen. But people can know your mother died," I say, gently, "That isn't a secret. She's still your mother."
"Not anymore," Edmund says, not looking up as he picks apart his pie.
"I am going to come back and check on you two, when I can. And I understand Prince Henry is also arranging for you to have apprenticeships of some sort? Details haven't been worked out yet, this is all new to him as well, your mother hadn't told him about you two either," I say.
"He probably wants us killed," Edmund says.
"No, he's very nice," I say, "He's very hurt as well that your mother lied to him. But he's arranging her funeral and all else at the moment, but he's said he'll ensure you go someplace better. If he doesn't pick somewhere, or if he agrees, then I'll come and fetch you and you can both come with me to Wales after the new year."
"I don't speak Welsh," Edmund says.
"You cursed me in Welsh so yes you do," I say, tiredly. This conversation has been in French.
"It's only good for curses. I hate it," Edmund says.
"Cenedl heb iaith, cenedl heb galon, a nation without a language is a nation without a heart, one of our most sacred proverbs. We guard our language closely, as the English have tried to snuff us out, that's why your father taught it to you," I say.
"He and mum didn't teach us English," Jasper says. Oh, that's hilarious. They live in England. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Absolute god-tier petty. Their mother was married to the goddamn king of England. "I know a little. But not much, our mother said we'd go to France someday."
"That's where I was going, actually," Edmund says.
"Oh aye? Have a nice time in France and leave me here eh?" Jasper asks hurt.
"I did just say I was going to make my fortune and come back," Edmund says.
"You need to rely on each other right now. I'm here in England for a bit so I can't help you escape actually at the moment. However. I'll come back and check on you, and one way or another we'll make sure you're someplace you like, all right?" I ask.
Jasper nods, a little. His poor little hands are all bloodied.
"If they do that again, break their sticks with magic, and hide or something till we come for you. No one should hurt you like that," I say.
"Father' ll do worse if we use magic," Edmund says.
"Has he ever beaten you?" I ask.
"Other than when we were escaping this last time?"
"No."
"He's been disappointed."
"And he cried once."
"We ask him to beat us instead of sighing and praying, but he says no."
I almost smile, "Okay then. He's probably trying to protect you. I'm not saying he's right, but he's got decent motives."
"Mum would beat us," Jasper says.
"Oh yes," Edmund nods, "I broke three windows once. She said never to use that witchcraft around her again."
"Could have reminded her of someone terrible. But that doesn't make it okay. Nobody should be hurting you boys, at all," I say, "All right? Do you think you'll be all right here for a few days while we make some arrangements? Or do you want me to tell your dad you're very unhappy and trying to run away and not getting food? Because I will and I'll get him time off to come and fetch you."
"We're okay," Jasper says, hugging his knees.
"We're fine. We don't need help," Edmund says, bravely.
"But you'll come back?" Jasper frowns.
"I will definitely be seeing you again soon," I say, "I promise."
"We'll be okay here. It's not so bad if we follow the rules," Jasper says.
"We wouldn't know we've never done that," Edmund says, pushing his brother. Jasper pushes him back. "Worst case they try to exorcise Diawl here."
"Shut up," Jasper says, a bit sadly, pushing his big brother away. His cheeks flush though. "I'm not possessed."
"I mean. You act it, and look it. So, might be fun. If you are a demon inhabiting my brother's body I want you to know I might miss you, but probably not," Edmund says.
"Shut up," Jasper says, pointedly turning away from his big brother, rubbing tears from his face. He looks at me, "Why don't you?"
"What?" I ask, frowning.
"Stare at my face. Everyone does, I hate it," he says, softly. Of course, poor baby never left his house before he's not used to people looking at him like that.
"I—," part of the truth is I've already met him as an adult, so I was fully prepared for his birthmarks, and so of course I haven't looked twice. But I can't tell him that. "When I was little, littler than you, people did all sorts of things to get my hands to whatever, move like other people's. But they don't go like that, they're meant to be like this. Your face is meant to be like that just because it's a bit different doesn't mean anything to me."
"Why is your eye like that?" Edmund asks.
"It's a secret, which Jasper will find out eventually," I say, grinning a little.
"Really?" Jasper asks.
"Yeah. Short story is it's a spell gone a bit wrong," I say, shrugging, "That did the scarring too."
"He's never met someone uglier than him," Edmund says, "Mother tried to get it to wash off. He's worse on his back. She says its because he was born too early but I think he might be possessed."
"I'm not," Jasper says, annoyed.
"People have different colored patches of skin, fairly often. Not always on the face though sometimes, that's all. Stop bothering your brother Edmund, he doesn't find it funny," I say.
"You're not my father," he scoffs.
"No, but last I checked the position of being your mum is open and bicker any more and I'll formally adopt you and fill it," I say, "All right?"
"I feel like dad doesn't like you," Jasper says.
"Absolutely not," I say, making him smile.
"Dad doesn't like you either," Edmund says to Jasper.
"That's it. I'm your mum now," I say, making both boys laugh, "Go hide the rest of this food, and please take care of each other?"
"Promise you'll come back?" Jasper asks, smile fading.
"I promise," I say, smiling at him.