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

Chapter 8: The warlord and his permanat shadow are back in town

Gideon
I go back to Harlech for a few hours. That winds up being good because Lowri was at large and not interested in going to bed so I do get to chase her around the castle so that's fun. Then I update everyone.
"Yes, the queen is dead, this does not appear to be a trick, many people are crying. I am not a therapist. No, I didn't see a body so she might be alive. A couple people cried. I did get a couple hugs so that was great. Prince Harry is still a cinnamon roll. Oh and I may have adopted two sad sorcerer children I told them I'm their mother now, but Lowri needs people to play with so they might come home with us is that okay?"
"This—this is what we get when you tell him to sum up quickly," Rhiannon so tired.
"Yeah, you're right it is, slightly longer version, Gideon dear?" Elis says.
"Knew she wasn't dead," Dancer, triumphantly.
Anyway, I fill them in fully. They are leaving in the morning so we all need to get a good night's sleep, and I should probably head back to Windsor. I'm not doing any good at home and night time stalking usually does very well back at Windsor.
It doesn't this time, though. This time Windsor is peaceful, if somber. Prince Harry is curled up in a pile of his hounds, by the fire, cried himself to sleep, poor thing. The twins are in bed, and all seems to be in place. I let myself into a guest room to wash up and then I slip back to Prince Harry's study. He was damn near suicidal last night. Not really in that it's a sin. I don't think he would. But I am not fond of his talk about serving god better in heaven, not with that much wine in him. I don't think he'd take his own life, but self harm is extremely common in neurodivergent folk and I'd rather be safe than sorry.
I slip back into his study and lie down on the sofa for a few good hours rest, I sorely need it at this point. And I have to take my own advice to shut from my mind the memory of those two sad boys with their bloodied hands.  I force my mind elsewhere, namely to a nursery rhyme I was trying to memorize to sing to Myrddin. And doing that I fall asleep.
And as usual at Windsor, I am rudely awoken. This time it's to people talking.
"My lord, the King is returned," a servant is standing in the doorway.
"Wake my brother and sister, and ready them, thank you Isaac—how did he get here this fast?" Harry stumbles to his feet, putting a hand through his messy hair.
"Talent," I mutter, rolling off the sofa.
"You. Do you think you can quote the Bible to me so incredibly incorrectly and just put me to sleep?" Harry asks.
"I mean—clearly I can," I say, "And it's not incorrect. It's a remix. Different thing."
He sighs heavily, hands to his face, "I'm so not ready for this."
"Nor am I, want me to stay in here?"
"No, come with me, you should be here," he shakes his head, "How do I look?"
"Tired, like your mother just died, honestly, it's fine."
"Watch him look fantastic."
Yes of course King Henry looks fantastic.
We assemble on the Windsor steps to greet him. The sun isn't even up yet, and half of us look like we rolled out of bed, most of us look like we've been crying. Then King Henry and his procession arrive. They've clearly ridden hard from the coast. Henry on his great white war horse, at the head of the procession. He's in dark mourning clothes, and a white tunic, and a very lovely, long deep purple cloak. Keeping with tradition, Archbishop Courtenay is all of three steps behind me, on a large bay, dressed in priestly robes.
Even with no coronet there's no mistaking our Henry Rex. His dark salt and pepper hair hasn't recovered from the ocean voyage and is quite curly. He's entirely put together, his mourning clothes neat, sword at his side. Face set like stone. The Hammer of Gauls lives up to his accolades, this isn't a man to be trifled with,  you can love him, but you'll also most definitely fear him. Chroniclers will say that his eyes are brown like that of a dove, then a lion. The allusion is apt, his dark gaze can turn deadly in the blink of an eye.
Behind him Courtenay is handsome as ever, thick black hair, and oddly bright blue eyes, thrice his share of jawline and chin bones, prettier than any man of god has a right to be. Now he looks pensive, but I'm sure that's by design and not by emotion. Ever Henry's loyal, clever little shadow, our King dwarfs him and everyone, but Courtenay is not a small man himself and is decently intimidating when put to it. He's not currently put it to it; he's playing the priest for now.
The procession is quite grand, even if it is clear they galloped from the coast. But it had to be seen they rushed to home and so they did. It's all very dramatic, very staged. The Imperial March should be playing, that's how utterly ominous it is.
I haven't seen King Henry in a few glorious months. I was on campaign with him in Castile earlier this year but we won that and I went home in favor of hanging out with my kids. Not that I didn't use magic to go home like daily, but even so, with my contract to Henry up, I've been mostly in Wales of late.
The drive up to Windsor is miles long, even past the gates it's forever, then there's a circle drive past another gate in the main ward. We spot them coming from well down the road, hence the messengers who woke us, and now we wait for them to reach the gravel drive. Servants are waiting to take the horses and attend to the procession. All of us were in bed, but we are all in equally good form. I'm hovering back behind the royals, near some of the palace guard. Prince Henry is standing in front, with Kate and Edmund on his either side. Harry's blond hair blows in the wind and his face is already chapping with his tears. Kate and Edmund are somber, both are dressed in white mourning clothes with regular jackets, Harry is still in all black, he refused a coat twice so he's just shivering a little.
Finally, the horses reach us. King Henry dismounts first then the rest follow suit. He hands the reigns of his loyal charger off to a servant, quickly, before coming to greet his children. If I could sum up his entire demeanor in one word that word would be—-inconvenienced. He's mad he had to come home. He was having fun on campaign he had no intention of leaving anytime soon. 
"My lord, father," Prince Harry bows, and the other two do the same, murmuring a similar greeting. The rest of us bowed the moment the horses cleared the gate and won't move till he releases us.
"Are you well?" King Henry asks, putting a hand on his son's neck and examining him.
"Yes, father," Prince Harry says.
"Come inside," King Henry says, nodding for the rest of us to follow. We do, mostly awkwardly. He spots me and looks like he wishes he could kill me and make it look like an accident. I smile and nod.
"I'll tell you all I've prepared," Prince Harry says, as soon as we clear the doors.
"In the morning. I'm sure it's fine," King Henry says, hand still on his eldest' s neck. Kate moved to his other side and he put an arm around her automatically. Courtenay is hugging Edmund who is crying now, a bit.
"As you wish," Prince Harry says, voice hoarse.
"You look ill. Go back to bed, all of you, we'll take breakfast, together," King Henry says, squeezing Kate who curls under his arm, "We've ridden straight from the coast, all of us. And word was your brothers are not far behind."
"They shouldn't be," Harry says, softly, rubbing his face with one hand.
"Go back to bed," King Henry says.
"Father," Kate says, softly.
"Yes, father," Harry nods. He glances at me, nodding that he'll be fine. I doubt that. But I have more important spying to do now. Public enemy number one is back on this island and bored. Wales has never been more at risk.
Everyone disperses. I make myself scarce, disappear, then wind my way back through the castle to Henry's favorite plotting room, where I expect him and Courtenay to retire to as soon as possible.
I am naturally right, they predictably say their goodbyes and convene in their favorite place to be awful together. It's a nice little study with a fire and two identical chairs they sit and plot evil schemes in, and maps on the walls of places they want to invade. And a globe Henry is effectively coloring in. Okay, he's painting it but it's the same thing.
Henry's human mask slips even more as he slams the door behind himself; he came in second Courtenay made it in first to pour the wine. It's like four am but I doubt if they've slept.
"Do I still look great?" King Henry asks, throughly annoyed, taking off his cloak.
"Yes. Yes you do, your majesty," Courtenay says, calmly.
"Damn it—I should look bereaved. And distraught, and shocked," King Henry says putting a hand through his perfectly tousled hair. He does look, very fine.  His ruddy complexion is clear and healthy and he looks at most bothered. Not upset.
"You don't. You look excellent, but it's no matter, we landed under the cover of darkness,  to comfort your children and be with them in this time of grief," Courtenay, who also for the record looks completely fine.
"Yes, well I'd prefer not to look the peak of health. I should look shaken, along with vaguely Christ like. I just returned from the front I should be battle weary," King Henry who again is clearly none of those things, comes to get the wine.
"Well, you don't. You look the picture of health."
"Yes, I noticed. Damned thing, damned funeral," King Henry mutters, clearly above all else inconvenienced.
"We'll get through it. A few days," Courtenay shrugs a little.
"Then what? I can't just leave, it would look as though I don't care my wife is dead," King Henry who, if it wasn't already abundantly clear, does not care that his wife is dead.
"Look, we have the funeral, then we go down to Kenilworth for the New Year, with the children. We've not opened it all year. Harry can remain there till summer, have some quiet. There's lovely hunting even this time of year, plenty of grounds to take the boys riding," Courtenay points out.
Okay, pause everything. This is one of my favorite Henry stories, and I haven't had the excuse to tell it till now. But, Gideon, you say. We're seven books in. How on earth do you have a NEW Henry the Dramatic Fifth story? I do, because he's amazing. Buckle up.
Kenilworth is an old Lancaster estate. Bit of trivia is it's where Edward II was held after he was deposed, it's where he was rumored to have escaped from. It's huge, it withstood the longest siege in England (not Wales, Harlech holds that record), but that was back in Edmund Crouchback's days I believe. Anyway, fast forward. John of Gaunt, marries into Lancaster money, gets Kenilworth. He builds it up a lot, invests in it, spends most of his retirement there. It's not far outside, south a bit of London so easy access as needed. It's also very easy to defend, it's got great fortifications.
Anyway. I'm getting to the point I promise.  Henry IV inherits it with the rest of the Lancaster fortune, but he's busy quelling rebellions, doesn't do a lot with it. Henry V gets the crown in 1413. In 1414, Henry V decides, as a treat to himself, he's going to build a retreat on the Kenilworth grounds. A castle in and of itself, surrounded by an artificial lake, that he had them dig. Gideon, I didn't know they built artificial lakes back then, I thought they did that when they got bulldozers. Yeah, it's true, I would not lie to you. I promise go google this you can go visit it in the 21st century. So, Henry V contracts this castle to be built, as a retreat from royal life. It's only accessible by boat. He names it. This is really good. He calls it. The Pleasance. Which means 'pleasure' in french.
Gideon, this doesn't sound like a family story anymore. You just said he built a castle only accessible by rowboat, in the middle of his grounds, completely guarded, and private, that he named 'The Pleasure'. That sounds sordid.
Yes, that is exactly what he did. And for all we can tell he used it to rest, get away from the big city, and engage in his favorite pastime of plotting the invasion of France. I'm not kidding. He took maybe his brothers or Courtenay out there, to discuss taxes. Someday I will be able to talk about this without laughing today is not that day. He legit would row his, whatever, brothers/bishop, out there to chat about his favorite things, invading France and money. From what I can tell, in my world he never took his wife there.
In all seriousness, most monarchs have a preferred house that's a bit, eh, smaller than Windsor or something. In the 20th Century and 21st, Queen Elizabeth II will utilize Balmora castle in this manner. Edward II was fond of a couple houses in London. Henry VII will use Kenilworth a good deal, and presumable 'the Pleasance' as well as it's there. It's logical to have somewhere removed, that you can defend, that isn't teaming with servants. In Henry's case, the Pleasance was decidedly safe, you had to row out to it. Easy to defend, he's locked up there. He can be himself a bit, talk with his brothers without being overheard, plot war crimes, you know, fun activities if you're a Henry.  You don't have to hide that you've been chatting with the Bishop for hours on end, and if you want to you can walk down to the kitchen and make yourself a sandwich. You have maybe a few highly trusted servants. Your dogs are everywhere ready to bark at the sight of anyone rowing out. In a sad way, it's the perfect place to take your wife and kids to be a normal family for once, not constantly on display. In my world Henry V never lived long enough to do that. And I like to think he'd have wanted to take his quiet son out there for peace, tranquility, and a break from the public eye.
In this reality I'm going to assume when he's not busy being Awful in Europe, or charming his own court, he'll use it for that purpose. That appears to be what Courtenay is suggesting. He's saying Kenilworth, but I'm assuming he's implying the Pleasance specifically, because he said get away.  Kenilworth is one of their favored homes, he's opened it for a summer or two, I went down once, year before last but I never got near the Pleasance (not for lack of trying),  it's well away deep in the grounds a couple miles from the castle so I couldn't hike there and I wasn't supposed to be in Kenilworth. Anyway. Enough about me. Kenilworth will see intermittent action, serving as a main Lancaster base in the War of the Roses, so our Prince Harry will spend some time there, likely holing up at the Pleasance with his family given it's so hard to attack. It'll wind up being used in the English Civil War. Now in the 21st century there's ghost tours and educational things, but it's nowhere near its former glory. Absolutely go, at least google this, I promise the Pleasance is a thing. No, I do not know why he called it that, but I find it funny.  Anyway, that's what they are talking about.
"I suppose we could go. Better than spending two weeks at court. Thomas and I could go hunting. And Harry quite likes the quiet of the prayer garden, he always enjoys going anyway," King Henry says, a bit idly.  Yeah, that's what they're talking about Pleasance has a garden in the center of it, I'm sure they're using it as a prayer garden. "Harry wasn't looking well, was he?"
"His mother just died?" Courtenay offers.
"Yes, but she didn't spend much time with him, people die all the time. Damned woman. She did this on purpose you know. To intentionally vex me. She knew how I was looking forward to this campaign she asked if I was planning to return in the year and I said no and now look? Ruined," King Henry says, pacing.
"You're—saying she—died on purpose?" Courtenay asks, slowly.
"Yes, obviously. To inconvenience me specifically it's the sort of thing she'd do," King Henry says, like this is rational, "What were you suggesting I was saying?"
"That she's not dead?" Courtenay shrugs.
"Oh. No. Not after how disdainful she was of the text I gave her on how to disappear if she wished, she called it 'bizarre' and me 'callous' for suggesting it," King Henry says, hurt that his 'How to leave your sociopathic husband and live your best life after faking your death: written by your sociopathic husband' notebook was unappreciated.
"Oh, but she might have kept it. I don't know. I was just thinking it is a bit odd she die," Courtenay says.
"Well, if someone—finds her—I'll not take her back, four boys is sufficient, and Harry's of age now he might—,"
They look at each other.
"Well, the four is sufficient," King Henry nods.
"Yes, quite. Speaking of Harry though—I don't suppose he knows anything?"Courtenay asks.
"Ever since I told him things died, namely his dogs, his mother and I agreed that boy is not given new information. No. He doesn't. Tudor could bring the bastards here and Harry wouldn't suspect. Once I asked him if he thought his mother liked me, and he said yes. Harry doesn't know things," King Henry scoffs. Oh, so he knows everything everything? Good to know. Okay, as suspected he doesn't care about things that don't directly interfere with Henry and Henry's money and Henry's lifelong quest to conquer the globe.
"Oh, I agree. I'm just concerned is all," Courtenay says.
"Be concerned with comforting him with scripture, and the service, I've got the funeral to plan, the cause of death to be declared as murder, and Aragon to frame for it," King Henry says, going to his table, "If I didn't want their archers I'd do Wales but Castile is mine now it makes it much more complete if I had Aragon."
Ignore me over here chocking because I always forget he's this bad. And he's this bad. He really is.
"Oh, don't mention Wales, Gideon's probably listening," Courtenay says.
"True, he's here. I thought you put up enchantments though," King Henry says, going to his papers.
"I did but that he's never yet stopped him," Courtenay says, tired.
"No, it has not," I say, becoming visible. They both jump a little, but are not that surprised to see me, which isn't a good thing.
"Out," King Henry says, not looking up, snapping his fingers and pointing at the door, like I'm a dog.
"Sure, I'd like a glass of wine, I come in peace. I wanted to make sure the late Queen wasn't actually murdered, but that's nice you're just going to pretend that. Also, I happen to know our Prince Harry hasn't slept properly in days and he's not eating either, he's iller than he lets on," I say.
"Damn," Courtenay sighs.
"Thank you. Leave," King Henry is about to get his sword which he'd hung by the door.
"Look, the Welsh party is on its way, and I'm gonna stop them unless I'm convinced you're not doing some horrible, like you were literally just planning on doing," I say, gesturing innocently.
"I don't care. Stop them. And leave," King Henry says.
"Oh, but that would look bad wouldn't it? Also, I'm not very nice I would tell people you framed your wife's perfectly natural death, as murder," I say.
"What is it you want?" Courtenay asks.
"No games involving Wales. You know I'm here, and watching you. I can ignore everything, or make life really complicated. I don't think you want that. I think you want to get back to campaign, as soon as possible," I say, "Portugal hasn't fallen yet. It will. But not just yet and you were busy. So, we get this funeral done with, and I go home, and you go back to being the Scourge of Europe."
"Is that what they're calling me now?" King Henry asks.
"No, I just made it up," I say, fist halfway in my mouth.
"Hm. Not bad," he shrugs.
"Has a ring to it. Might make it a thing," I shrug.
"Saint," Courtenay growls,  because we were going to go on, "We don't make assurances to you."
"I don't care. I'm not asking. I'm saying I can be the harbinger of chaos at this funeral—or not. I'd prefer not. But it's been a while I thought you'd like to be reminded, yes, I'm watching, yes I'm ready to jump in and save Wales, so don't put us all in that position," I say.
"Simply because you came here and said that. I might," King Henry says.
"You want everyone to know your wife was having an affair? Yeah 'cuckold' doesn't look good on you your majesty," I say, coolly.
"You can't possibly have proof," King Henry says, idly, not even threatened, such an icon. What? I can admire him and be pissed off at the same time it's called fatal attraction sweetie look it up.
"I don't need it to start rumors which happen to be true. I didn't come here to make threats. I'm just good at it. I only want peace for Wales," I say.
"You have an odd way of offering peace," King Henry snarls.
"I know England's core strategy is the offensive. Thought I'd try it instead of giving you the benefit of the doubt, which incidentally is usually how I wind up fighting monsters through the halls at Windsor, protecting you and your family from a problem you intentionally created for entertainment," I say.
"Are you implying I would actually do something to disturb my beloved wife's funeral?" King Henry asks, doing a very good impression of human with emotions who is offended.
"I'm directly stating it. I've been here this whole time. I know for a fact you're not exactly bereaved," I say, "And even if you didn't do it intentionally you very well could have brought problems back with you. Maybe even unintentionally, like the time you woke up an army of ghosts because you were trying to find out if they were real."
"Your spying needs to come to an end. What's stopping me from having you thrown in the Tower till I'm back out of England?" King Henry asks.
"Ah—you're probably going to want me to help with whatever shenanigans ensue now that you're back?" I say, shrugging.
"We're here for a funeral," Courtenay says, "If anything mysterious happens it's due to you, Saint."
"Nothing is going to happen. Because you are going to leave before I contract you for my Aragon campaign to avenge my beloved wife's murder—,"
"That you just made up? Really? No, I have plans fine I'm going, just please don't involve Wales in anything," I groan, going to the door before he actually does do that.
"What would there be to be involved in?" King Henry asks, as the alarm bells go off.
Naturally we all three run in the direction of the alarm bells. I understand the main purpose of sounding the alarm is for us to stay put and not get killed. But like I understand that intrinsically, not in practice. And how else am I going to see what's going on?
So, of course I run in the direction of the noise. King Henry and Courtenay do the exact same thing. I might say "What did you do?" In a rather exasperated tone to my reigning monarch. It's a blur.
We make it to the main hall before we see them. Dozens, if not hundreds, of ghost warriors, swiftly fighting our palace guard. King Henry has his sword in his hand, Courtenay and I both immediately summon magic, but it's about to be too late. I realize what is happening just as the magic hits me like a wave.
I've only been tortured with my own memories once before, the French resistance's best sorcerer is a friend of mine now, it's fine, but it's been years since I felt the toxic pull of my worst memory. As I'm forced to relive it, over and over.
And in that moment I'm a child again. The restraints are snapping on my arms as I scream, and they're putting me in that awful jacket. And I'm being pushed into a dark closet. I'm screaming and screaming, but I can't get free. I can't move to comfort myself. I'm trapped. I'm trapped forever. And pain is shooting through my bones. My mind feels like it's full static.
I can rip myself away from the memory but it's slow and agonizing as I'm forced to relive the terror of those days. This happened more than once. And each time, it was the worst form of torture for me. I'd have preferred pain. But as it wasn't I couldn't move to comfort myself my arms couldn't move my hands couldn't twitch. I felt like I was on fire. And I am again. That sheer panic that I'll never get out. And my brain couldn't organize itself to escape. I could not think well enough to know that if I stopped screaming they'd take it off. So I scream forever as everything gets blurrier and blurrier.
With great effort, I drag myself from the memory, I'm not even conscious. I can taste blood in my mouth. But I tear the magic from me as quickly as I can. Which isn't quick at all. The nightmare repeats again and again and I see the dark of that closet not the hall in front of me.
But I'm here. And I'm barely free of my own memory before I'm moving to the others. King Henry is closest to me. I reach out blindly and take his arm, starting to yank the magic from him.
His worst nightmare hits me like a slap in the face.
He's standing in a field, in Wales, it's cold. He's not sixteen, mounted, staring out at a raging battle.  He's in armor, helmet visor up because he can't see, he's preparing to put it back down.  The battle has descended into melee, which he's on the edge of.  The sky is dark overhead.
And he turns, just a little, and that fated arrow strikes his face. A twinge of pain nothing more and blood is running down his cheek. He almost doesn't realize it at first, just a trail of red blood.
Then arms pinning him down to a bed. He's screaming as they slowly draw it from his flesh. A cork-screw like device, driven into his head to try to twist out the wood. He's trying to stay still but hands are holding him down as he screams in pain. And hell fire fills his head as agonizingly slowly they draw the wood from his brain. Every single turn of the screw sends bolts of pain screaming through his head. He screams and they put leather in his mouth to bite on and he bites through it, arms pinning him down as they twist it again. Blood is running into his eyes and mouth as he cries out again. And they just twist and he feels it scrape along his skull and yet they won't stop.
I wrest him from the memory, my own head aching in the pain of it. I shudder. It's a special kind of torture to be awake for brain surgery. I am not surprised that was the memory and I don't envy him it. 
He stumbles, we're both in the hall at Windsor, bloody and the ghosts are nearly to us. I spit out blood, the memories echoing through me but we're both free, for now. My arms are screaming in pain and my skin tingling, my head feels like it's going to explode from the weight of his torture. 
"Get him," King Henry says, pushing me back towards Courtenay, who is struggling to stand, eyes red and dripping with blood as he resists the memory.
Courtenay's worse nightmare I know all too well, I've lived it with him a dozen or so times on a field in France. I grip his arm and start fighting the dream with him. His is memories, or rather the imagination, of King Henry dying, slowly. And him being unable to help it. It's traumatic, but nowhere near as agonizing to me as mine and the king's memories of pain and torture.
In the visions Henry is in bed. He's sweating, dark hair sticking to his skin. He mumbles quietly, but the doctors can do nothing. One puts leeches on his skin and he thrashes, trying to get them away. But the force of it causes vomit to bubble from his lips. And he lays there, weak as a kitten, the great man now soaked in his own sweat as he feels his life fade away. Dark eyes focusing in the distance as though searching for a familiar face in his crowd of doctors.
I free Courtenay more quickly than I did us, he's able to at least help me, but that renders us immobile while I do it, during which time the ghosts reach us. We stumble, Courtenay shaking his head from the vision. Well aware it's not real, but that does little good when you're filled with the panic of it. For my part my head is still in splitting pain from King Henry's haunted memory.  We spring to help as fast as we're able.
King Henry is fighting two ghosts, but the magic is overcoming him again, I see the pain in his face.
Courtenay and I both summon magic, but we're just as quickly knocked off our feet. White ghost dragons. The same as we fought nearly a year ago. But now they're dripping with toxic magic that seems to sap my strength.
One bowls me over and another hits King Henry. Two leap upon Courtenay.
The one on top of me tries to seal it's jaws around my head. That doesn't work, but I'm trying to hold back most of the ghosts from the palace guard. And I just freed us all. I'm wearing out and my mind is scattered from the memories that keep trying to resurface.
King Henry drives a sword though the neck of his, and uses that to slowly drag its jaws away from his face. That's a good idea, but I lack the upper body strength to enact it, settling for just throwing mine off and into the opposite wall before going to help Courtenay.  He is cursing one wildly. I use magic to bring a discarded sword to my hand and drive it through the beast.
Courtenay locks eyes with me, nodding a little. Silent recognition that he knows this is not my fault and I just saved his precious King.
Henry slays his monster, and turns to look at us and down the hall. Courtenay looks at him and shakes his head a little. The palace guard are fighting them as well. I'm weak from freeing us from the memories.
I raise my hands wearily, moving to go and help the guards, trying to dispel the monsters as quickly as they come. They're as surprised as I am. I'm not saying this isn't Henry's fault. I'm saying he's also slightly surprised. This, plus Queen Catherine's sudden death. Something strange is going on. But what is it this time?