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

Chapter 12: Timey-Whimy-Stuff

Gideon
The trace spell is as effective as before. I elected to run it back, all the way to Edward III's time, somewhere in the 1300s, so about one hundred odd years. That should get the amulet not destroyed, and theoretically in royal possession. But, Gideon, you ask me, isn't that kind of bad? Like, why is your best plan always to rob the royal family?
For one thing, because it's fun. For another, because this sect of the Windsor family is going to be much easier to deal with. Yeah, they're still primarily war criminals with too much time on their hands, but Edward III had a large court, large family. Should be fairly easy to lie my way in considering that I know enough about history to pretend to know one of the kids and at least get in and steal the amulet.
Why am I calling them the Windsor family? Well okay, brief note, here. Edward III was born at Windsor so as a kid, he was known as Edward of Windsor, so for shorthand to refer to him and his many kids, we as historians will sometimes just call them the 'Windsor family'. Similarly, Henry IV owned the dukedom of Lancaster, so his family line is called the Lancaster family, it's not their last name but it distinguishes. Henrys IV-VI will be known as Lancaster kings, that's why I call them Lancasters. Henry VII is from the Tudor family line (yes as in Owen Tudor, he's Henry VII's grandfather), so Henry VII and Henry VIII, Mary I and Elizabeth I, are all Tudors and so on. In the Lancaster and Windsor families, it's not like their family name and at the time nobody would have bothered to call them that, I'm just doing it in my head and in narration to distinguish. Anyway, that's why I'm doing that. Moving on.
Unfortunately the trace isn't completely accurate. I find myself lying in the grass in some sort of field? Looks like a fair or a festival going on? The trace gets me closish to the amulet, but not all that close. Is this some sort of joust or festival on Windsor grounds? Looks like it. I stand up. My clothes aren't perfect for 100 years ago, but they're fairly close. Nobody's likely going to notice. I rub my hands on my pants and look around. Yeah, certainly looks like sort of fair is going on. It's warm, summer. The plague must not be too bad then? Before or after the threat of it.
I start following the flow of people. I'm not expecting this to be too quick, and I have to act somewhat natural. I'll just find where some guys are hanging out drinking, get information about where we are and which direction Windsor is. Easy enough.
Oh look it is a joust. That's fantastic. I'm walking towards a joust now. I love jousting. Jousting is very cool, the rules will change over the years, but in this era knights are jousting for points, based off breaking their lance on the other's shield. Most will be just jousting in a little plate armor and some mail. It's incredibly dangerous.
Edward II outlawed jousting and football due to the loss of life. His son, not so much. Edward III is an adrenaline junkie of the best kind, and allowed jousts, in his youth participating in disguise. We'll never know how much, but he did it enough for it to be recorded and known he did. Oh, and he didn't just participate in the jousting, he'd participate in the melee, which is where as many knights as possible, usually on horseback,  all fight in armor, hand to hand, just like in war. It's the most dangerous part of a tournament. Yes, obviously I want to do it and have done it twice before someone recognized me as a wizard and threw me out. That was a couple of years ago, good times. Gareth was watching and laughing he's a very enabling father-figure it's great. Our Henry V is also a fan of jousting, though he's usually participating in actual wars, during the siege of Melun, the story goes he actually jousted the enemy commander, personally, as a part of the fighting over control of a tunnel beneath the besieged castle's walls. That's completely true look it up, I know it's a very weird sentence but there it is. Told you I'm not out of weird and wild Henry V stories. Anyway, of course he's a fan of jousting as well.
I'm not a massive fan of crowds. Overlapping noises aren't my thing, makes it hard to think, and I really need to think right now. But. I'm going to suck it up for the sake of joust, and finding someone who can help me. Again, I'm a history nerd of the worst kind. I can probably provide enough accurate backstory to get a major noble to trust me and bring me back to Windsor. If I can recognize a current Earl or Duke, then I can just say someone else wanted me. Devil of it is figuring out who's alive or dead. I know I'm in the 1300s, but Edward III had solid fifty year reign. He outlived a lot of his country men. So a noble I might know of from later in his reign, might not be born yet in the early part of his reign.
No matter.  The name of the game is to get to Windsor, and either sneak off invisibly to try to steal the amulet, or if I'm lucky find some court wizard or sorcerer who might help me out in good faith. Again, I know a decent amount of facts to prove I belong and I have nothing against doing the odd truth spell to prove I'm not lying.
My best guess will be to go look at the flags. I'm going to do my best here not to overload on jousting/tournament facts, but I'm probably gonna fail. So.
At jousts the various knights participating would display their flags, or colors, which show who is competing. Jousting was, very similar to modern sports in terms of fan base, and specifically. A Knight's Tale, actually, didn't do you dirty, it's depiction of jousting and certain historical figures I may have had a crush on when I was twelve, was fairly accurate.  It solidifies some rules for story telling purposes but that is, fairly close to how jousts and tournaments work.
Now, Jousts are held for two reasons. One, a tournament sponsored by the crown or any other noble, as a part of a celebration. Only nobles would compete in those, which means basically anyone, from princes, to earls, it's all in good fun of course, and if they're so inclined the royal family could and would compete.  These could happen, for any reason, nobles could just hold it for fun, maybe someone's birthday or anniversary, to celebrate a wedding, whatever. Kenilworth and Windsor both have the grounds to support such a thing. I'm not at either castle, nor do I recognize the land. Looks like we're just at tournament grounds.
The other reason jousts might be held is, well, fun. Local villages might hold them. Any noble could hold a joust if they wanted.  A tournament prize is usually offered, but say for the leaders of a small town, the prize could usually be pretty small or nominal, like gold dipped peacock feathers, or just cash. And then in turn it's basically tourism for the town. In these, anyone could participate. You didn't have to be of noble birth, you just had to enter, and go. You still might fly a flag, depending on how organized this was. Could just be locals having fun, could be something they advertised or always do on a particular date to commemorate a battle, or whatever.
Not to over simplify it, but I'm a sociologist before an economist at heart, so. People have always felt a need to gather for sporting competitions. The Olympics and wrestling are thousands of year old pursuits. It's kind of mankind's thing. Jousting was just, a really cool, version of that for a while.  Nothing more nothing less, people having a good time. And like I said, unless the tournament was held by the crown or a duke or someone really rich,  likely basically anyone can show up.
This doesn't look like a Royal tournament, looks a bit less official than that. But they're still flying colors. Again, anyone can put these on, and unless you're a kill-joy who doesn't want to be murdered (Edward II, Henry IV...what? That's the first bad thing I've said about my boy Edward II leave me alone), then you the king aren't gonna super care people are doing this. No, seriously. The reason kings would ban tournaments is because a lot of men gathered with a lot of weapons and not the greatest impulse control, is a recipe for rebellion. If rebellion is something you're worried about, you ban jousting. Also Edward II banned football and he reportedly didn't like watching jousting because he thought it was dangerous, which it is, so maybe he was also just trying to keep his people alive.  Whatever reason, he did ban tournaments. I know I'm in Edward III's reign, and he didn't, so this tracks that this is happening. I don't get why I wound up here and not conveniently close to Windsor.
I study the flags of the joust. I'm not saying I memorized all the flags of Edward III, his sons, and any other major players in this period, in order to set up play jousts underneath my bed, at age seven. I'm saying I memorized MOST of the flags used by kings, princes, and major royals, in the 1300 and 1400s. And look it's paying off now. Too much to hope the Black Prince is jousting? A black flag with three white feathers would be a welcome sight at the moment. Known for his chivalry and general good nature, he's one royal I'd be more than happy to cross paths with. Stop looking at me like that, yes, I love him completely and probably won't ever shut up about him, but consider isn't it a nice break from me not shutting up about Henry V?  He owned a jousting helmet, by the way,  Henry did, though I've no evidence he ever jousted in tournaments, just that one instance during the siege of Melun, could have been a gift or he got it for his kid/s like dads sometimes get footballs you know? Meaning since he had it Melun, maybe he just carried it around hoping someone would agree to joust him which is almost sad. No, I don't feel sorry for him, but really.
The flags are woefully unfamiliar, or rather common. I recognize a few of noble families. But nothing special, also families fly the same flags for generations, ergo a father and son would joust under the same flag. Doesn't tell me who I'm looking at. There are plenty of flags I don't recognize, I'm surprised to see a welsh one mixed in there that's something I suppose, but doesn't tell me who it is.
I do spy a white flag with three red diamonds on it. The colors of William of Montgue, Earl of Sailsbury. Edward III's swords master as a boy, he'd be eleven years the king's senior, and they'd become bosom friends. I desperately need several Netflix series about this guy. He and Edward would get up to all sorts of fabulous adventures, involving disguises, smuggling themselves to France, secret coded messages, traps, secret passages, and murder. Good stuff. They also have been known to enter jousts together, the king of course in disguise. No one knows how much they did that considering they did it in disguise, but they did it enough for chroniclers to become aware of it.  Now, again, those colors would be flown by his son as well, but his dad passed when he was a boy, so our William is throughly likely to be the bearer of these. He'll die in 1344 of injuries sustained in a joust, which is sad yet he dies how he loved to live, being ridiculous and needlessly violent.
Oh and before you go conspiracy theory that bosom companion meant anything but, to be clear, both William and Edward marry and have several children and reportedly quite happy marriages. Doesn't mean they weren't bisexual, but William was also ten years Edward's senior, these two are partners in crime. And Edward has lost his father and his brothers pretty quickly, likely by now, and he's known William forever so there could be a big-brother relationship going on as well. Again, not everything is about sex, especially for the royals sometimes you just need a good friend who will treat you like a real person. And help you enter jousts under an assumed name.
Another flag takes my interest. A blue background, yellow cross, and yellow birds around it, three of them. How self-referential can you get Edward? I smile, as I make my way through the crowd. And here I was thinking our Edward III would be able to resist a hidden joke. Like his father, Edward III was known for having something of an odd sense of humor. Edward once responded to a letter France wrote to him asking him not to send William back there, and Edward said that he would ensure "William did not look upon France with both eyes again". William had lost an eye in a joust fairly recently. It was a joke, France wasn't to know that, and Edward literally sent the guy back with one eye. Yes, Edward thought he was very funny and for the record so do I.
I make my way towards the tilt. That's what the jousting, ring as it were, is called.  A random noble I don't recognize, is going up against, yes, yellow-cross-on-blue. I  find a vantage point to watch. I'm not fond of the crowds in jousting, but I am a fan of jousting, and I'll be damned if I miss this. I climb up on a couple of barrels, leaning to watch.
Yellow-cross Knight is in mail and just a shoulder plate, and of course a jousting helmet. A couple of men idle back at the sidelines, waiting to help him off or whatever. He's on a small, slim horse, not a charger he's on a much lighter, quicker mount which is a dark brown. Interesting choice he's a small enough man to get away with a lighter horse which will be faster.
His opponent is a minor noble, I recognize the flag nothing significant, probably a second or third son of somebody. He's on a charger, a tall bay that looks unused to the crowds. Yellow-cross Knight's mount is entirely steady.
They'll tilt, or charge, three times, best two out of three broken lances. Doesn't look like they're scoring points for dehorsing. In a friendly like this, the idea is not to to knock the other guy off the horse, you're aiming for their shield.
The first tilt yellow-cross knight breaks his lance with solid precision. His mount is faster and even though he's the smaller man he holds steady and his aim proves superior.  The crowd is clearly pleased with this result resulting in me trying to cover my ears till they quiet for the next round.
This time the noble is not to be trifled with. His horse is a bit wild after all the yelling, and so a bit faster. They both strike at the same time, but the noble's lance snaps on Yellow-cross knight's shield and goes directly into his arm, which while protected with mail and a gauntlet is bound to be hurt. I can't see blood from here, but I don't have to. I know from painful experience a blow like that can do damage, even in fun. Don't worry, Sadie and I were fine we were having fun I don't get why Elis stopped us. We wanted to be doing that. Anyway.
"Of course you're not going to scratch," I say, quietly, as the knights round again. Now, Yellow Cross knight is holding his lance in an injured arm. He has to be there's no way those splinters didn't pierce the mail, and even if they didn't the force of the blow could have broken bone. But he waves away his men at arms, getting a new lance and returning to the pitch.
Both knights charge again, this time yellow cross-knight again, shatters his lance before the other has a chance to lower his. Best two out of three, yellow-cross knight wins.
And I've found my king.
I wade through the crowd,  wincing at the noise and clamor as they get ready for another round. I just clap my hands over my ears and move on. Two other knights are up now. Which means I have precious few minutes to make it down to the pitch.
Thankfully, the joust seems fairly informal. The knights are mostly loitering and making small talk in between bouts. Nobody's anybody in particular, perhaps the odd Earl or son of, but no real nobility. In theory.
I find my party in the relative quiet of a few trees. The black sprinter is grazing happily, held by none other than the Earl of Sailsbury, red diamonds and all on his shield. He's a tall man, lean, with long brown-blond hair and dark eyes. He holds his own horse, a light bay, while clearly arguing with his monarch.
Edward III leans against the tree. He might be past thirty, but not by a lot. Chestnut hair, a bit curly, falls in his face as he tries to pry off the gauntlet, which is bent into his skin, blood bubbling past. He's nearly smiling as he does though, still flush with victory and pleased with himself.  His armor is deceptively simple, though a fine mail to the trained eye and I'm sure the plate armor is lighter than most.
"My lord," I say, bowing a little as I approach. Both men snap their heads up to look at me. Sailsbury, loyal man, puts his hand to his sword. Edward has no such concern.
"Shh, keep your voice down, man. How did you know it was me, anyway?" He asks, more annoyed than anything at being found out. Not like, properly annoyed. Like annoyed caught with his hand in the sweet jar. He'll get no repercussions, but he'd like to have gotten away with it.
"Not many men would tilt with a broken hand, for one," I say.
"They might," Edward grunts, not looking up from working on the gauntlet.
"For another you're flying the colors of Edward the Confessor, yet with only three birds, you are Edward, but the third," I say.
"Nobody else has noticed that, so he doesn't count," Edward says, mostly to his companion, like this has been an on going argument not to have a clever little pun built into his not so great disguise. William nods like he's been validated.
"Also, you're standing here with an Earl as your squire, and no pages about," I say, shrugging. William shrugs like that tracks.
"Oh—I had a boy about for that reason—haven't seen him a while though. Anyway, did you just come here to be clever?" Edward asks, mostly pleasantly though still slightly annoyed I saw through his very bad attempt at a disguise. All right, it's not that bad because it's apparently worked but like, it's bad to me. To be clear, it's entirely likely nobody would recognize him. The thing is, there's no internet or newspapers, how are the people supposed to know what their monarch looks like, without the fancy robes and proper colors? He's a thirty something year old man, with blonde hair and blue eyes, five seven or there about which is average height. Unless someone had met him personally they wouldn't pick him out of a line up. And he's currently clean shaven, he probably grows a beard when presenting as a royal, which would further alter his appearance.
"No, I had a favor to ask  of your lordship, but may I?" I ask holding out a hand to see his arm.
"Stop that—do you want everyone to recognize me? There's a melee tomorrow," Edward says, glancing around like we could be overheard.
"Sorry," I wince, force of habit, "Let me see."
"It's stuck closed," he says, holding out his hand anyway to let me examine the gauntlet, now slick with his blood.
I take his hand carefully, and then let magic curl down my fingers onto the snaps, breaking them open and letting the damaged gauntlet fall to the ground. I step back.
"Wizard?" Edward asks, a little interested.
"Yes. I've come to ask your aid, in fact," I say.
"Let's get a drink," Edward says, picking up the gauntlet to hand to William who just shrugs like this is very typical, as he goes to tether the horses.
"Where do you come from?" Edward asks.
"I'm in service of an ally of yours, whose name I'm bound not to reveal. But I'll swear on anything you like it's true. And I have need of an artifact I think may be in your possession," I say.
"We'll do what we can to help. Will, have you seen that kid?" Edward asks, looking around. Please, tell me it's some random kid he brought and not one of his thirteen actual children he lost. He'll father thirteen children with his wife, not all will live to adulthood, but five boys will, the youngest being born when he and his wife are in their forties. So no, he doesn't have that many now but if he is in his early thirties or so he'll have four or five, a reasonable pack, plus friends kids he would let play with his or stay at Windsor.
"No, I've been with you," William scoffs.
"Oh well, we'll find him eventually—what's your name, Sir Wizard?"
"Gideon Saint," I reply, it feels so weird not to say my lord or bow. Even in plain clothes Edward is terribly striking, mostly arrogance oozing from him. He'll go down in history as one of England's favorite kings, and longest reigning, even being studied as one of the greatest generals England ever produced. And he'll be surprisingly a good husband and father. Loyal to his wife we have no evidence of any infidelity which was decidedly common for men of his station, and he and his five adult sons would always remain on good terms, and his adult daughter who would go so far as to stay with him as he died. And so a good man? The war crimes are there but I'll be damned if I don't say the other tends to make me a solid Edward III fanboy. Oh, and the time he used a secret passage to sneak into a castle and beat up his mom's boyfriend who killed his dad was also very bad ass. That's completely true, I love that story.
"Doesn't sound overly familiar. Have we met before?" Edward asks, lightly, as he leads us through the crowd, which I'm grateful for in that it's noisy and I'm not great with directions at the moment.
"I think not—I just had reason to believe this artifact might be in your possession," and I need it to help your great-great times several, grandson, who you'd like by the way. Yeah, if heaven has some sort of cheering session where you get to watch your chaotic grandchildren finish a hundred year long war you started for fun, Edward III would have a front row seat for his grand boy Henry V's exploits. "I can show you what I think it looks like."
"Sure, over a drink—ah there you are, Teddy," Edward reaches out a hand and catches a boy from where he was climbing on barrels to watch a joust. The boy happily obliges bouncing back to his father's side. Inky black curls nearly obscure the child's face, and he has soft, sun-kissed bronze skin. Teddy would be short for Edward as well. So this is our Black Prince. Maybe eleven or twelve years old here? I smile at him, as he curls under his father's arm, perfectly content to be caught. He looks nothing like his father, with several shades darker skin, and dark hair and eyes, which will likely earn him his famed moniker. He takes after his mother, who was said to have 'brown skin all over'. Similarly, John of Gaunt this one's baby brother and our Henry's grandfather, will also be depicted as having black hair and eyes, and a deeper skin tone than their decidedly fair sire. 
Right now, our crown prince is dressed simply as his father, and is suitably dusty and mucky from the day. This appears to be an entirely typical day for the royals, sans guards, and they're enjoying a nice father son outing. Our Black Prince is likely the only one old enough to go, otherwise more would come. His sister Isabella, Edward's favorite child rumors have it, is only a year younger. But the other boys are four and ten years younger than the Black Prince, ergo too little for Edward to smuggle off for child endangerment fun.
"I saw you take the hit," the boy says, checking his father's arm.
"Doesn't hurt," Edward, who has blood running down his hand, "Did you see me hit him the second time?"
"Aye, you aimed too high, nearly glanced off," the boy says.
"You don't miss anything to do you?" Edward asks, grinning as he hugs his son around the neck affectionately strangling him. The prince just smiles, fully used to this kind of treatment, and with no fear of his father's thick arms. "Teddy here—this is my boy, Teddy, my eldest—-Teddy this is a wizard Will and I just met. D'you know where Kat was?"
"At the sword I think," the prince says, studying me a little.
"Go fetch her for us will you? We're trying to help this wizard—Kat's a wizard who's been with us," Edward says, waving his hand to imply it's his court wizard and so he can't actually say that, but that's what is going on.
"That would help yes," I say, my eyes following as the Black Prince darts off to do as his father asked, weaving his way into the crowd.
"He's fine," Edward follows my gaze,  "Good for him. I used to run about London at that age. D'you remember Will?"
"Very vividly," William says, but not like it's a pleasant memory.
"Don't pout. We've got maybe two years before we're having to drag him out of bars," Edward laughs. So the boy is like twelve?
"You say that like you won't just join him, and we both know you will, Ed."
"I would not."
"He said 'oh I think there's a joust, can we go?' And you said 'sure William's probably already entered', and then you showed up at my door saying you were staying with me and then just followed me here."
"That was ages ago," Edward laughs about this thing that probably happened two days ago if not this morning.
By now we've reached a pub and are installed in a booth with pints of beer. I'm not attempting to get wasted. I have several very emotional Lancasters I need to get home to, so I pace myself, sipping my beer just to look like I'm drinking it.
The others are not so observant though, King Edward is more than happy to bicker with William and wipe the blood from his hand. William cajoles him into letting him have a look at it and binding up the wound. It doesn't look bad, just a good slice, the gauntlet did the most damage bending into his arm.
"This is a fragment of the amulet I need. The one I think you may have is identical, and I need to borrow it if I may," I say, placing the piece of amulet on the table.
"It doesn't look familiar, my wizards might know more though," Edward says, not overly concerned.
"No, it doesn't look familiar, what makes you think we have it?" William asks.
"A spell," I sigh. I was hoping they would recognize it? They are willing enough to help. "And I really need it—I'd return it as soon as I'm finished."
"What do you hope to do with it?" Edward asks, not suspiciously, but like he's bored and might as well get involved.
"I'm trying to trap the ghost of a wizard who is hunting—someone of importance," I sigh.
"What wizard? I didn't know wizards were ghosts," William says.
"Are if they're strong enough," Edward shrugs.
"This one was apparently. His name was Kit Wren," I say.
"I knew him—he was in my father's court," Edward says, sitting up a bit.
"He was?" I ask, my heart jumping, "Small, amber eyes and dark hair?"
"Yes, he never spoke, he was mute. He was about a good deal, but,  I never knew what happened to him. He just quit showing up one day," Edward says, "He was nice enough of a fellow. Why would he be a ghost?"
"I happened to him—he was attacking —a member of your family and I killed him, now he's a ghost he's still trying to kill us," I sigh, defeated.
"Who?" Edward asks, frowning.
"I really am not supposed to say," I say, sighing, "And this amulet should let me trap him and—reason with him."
"Good luck then, he seemed perfectly reasonable. Granted, last time I saw him I was probably Teddy's age," Edward shrugs, "Unfortunately, I don't recognize that thing so I don't know what good we are to you. But we're glad to help. Poor Kit, as I said he didn't seem like a bad sort. Say, come back to Windsor with us, my wizards can lend you anything that might be of use."
"We're going back to Windsor tonight?" William asks.
"Yes," Edward says.
"What are you going to say happened to your arm?"
"Jousting—?"
"They know where you are?"
"Well, Pippa knows where I am, how do you think I got the kid? She'd miss him," Edward laughs.
"Right then," William says, a bit tired.
"Oh don't pout Kitty wants to preserve you. Pippa just knows I'm too stubborn to get killed," Edward says, entertained by his friend's distress.
Our Black Prince returns, scurrying in and immediately to his royal father's side. His dark eyes are quick though, taking me in again as though he doesn't fully trust me.
"You want to go home soon?" Edward asks, messing up the boy's curls with obvious affection. Father and son look almost nothing alike, and could pass for knight and page if you didn't look too long. There's something just a touch too well kept about both of them. And their body language eerily similar. The boy's curls are neat and not too wild, Edward's eyes too clear and hands too soft for those of a common man. No, this pair is anything but common. Military history will sing their praises for the next seven hundred years. The Black Prince will grow to be a military genius, his tactics will be studied for years to come. And he'll be known as a kind man off the battlefield, fair to his prisoners, the model of chivalry.  It's his youngest son, Richard II, who will do the most to preserve his father and grandfather's legacy and who we have to thank for the accounts of the exploits, without Richard's dedication to book keeping and preserving it we wouldn't know half what we do today.
"Aren't we doing the melee tomorrow?" The boy asks, frowning a little up at his father.
"Not if this hand keeps swelling up we're not," Edward says, showing it to him, "Another time, yeah?"
"Yeah," the prince leans against his father, clearly no stranger to this scene. He's comfortable and happy as any boy out for a day of sports with his dad. He and his father will remain on good terms and essentially best friends their whole lives. But then, Edward will remain close to all of his children. This one perhaps a bit more as his eldest? We'll never know, he's good to all of them.
The boys' dark eyes focus on the fragment of the amulet I set on the table. "What's that?"
"An amulet—I'm looking for it's match," I elaborate.
"Do you recognize it?" Edward asks, nicely, not at all concerned his actual child recognizes a magic amulet some strange trash wizard he met ten minutes ago brought.
"I don't know. It looks familiar," the Black Prince (yes I'm going to keep calling him that. Shut up. This is as big as the time Henry V punched me in the face).
"It didn't to me," Edward says.
"In the stuff you brought home. That you let me and Izzy see," the Black Prince says, quietly. His sister a year younger than him is Isabela, so he's calling her Izzy. They share tutors and are overall good friends their whole lives.
"Is it?" Edward shrugs, then looks over my shoulder, waving a hand, "Kat, come join us."
A woman, well bit closer to girl than woman, has stopped dead in her tracks in the door of the pub. She's dressed partly in armor, and men's clothes, so a participant of the tournament? It's not wholly uncommon for women to cross dress to get the job done, and Edward did specify this is his wizard. She's got long black hair that's currently braided back, and soft puffy cheeks that betray her youth. Her skin is a soft brown, nearly as dark as my own. So another wizard who found an amulet? Good for her, got a fun time period and a fun court.
But she has stopped the moment she laid eyes on me, and takes a step back.
"You recognize me?" I realize, frowning a little.  But why is that a bad thing?
"Many know you," she says, still not stepping forward.
"They do?" Why would they know me here? Because of Kit, something he does? No, that doesn't add up. I'm not anyone.
"Yes, you should know that," she says, coming to join us a little hesitantly as I don't take my fist out of my mouth or do anything to be perceived as a threat.
"I don't. I'm just—here to see if anyone can help me find an amulet like this," I say, pointing to it lying on the wood table.
"Kat, don't we have something like that?" The Black Prince asks.
"Um—yeah, this is like a piece of it though, see that's the bottom end—it forms a box," she says, picking it up, "And it's fire damaged so—this would be a lighter grey."
"How did you know it was fire damaged?" I ask, frowning. Is Kit not the only wizard bouncing around space time? I mean, I realize I technically am to but I'm trying to be good.
"It's scorched,"  the girl mutters, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, "Um—Teddy, isn't this still at Windsor?"
"I don't know," he shrugs.
"Wait, you said it's a box?" William asks.
"Yes," I and the girl say, in unison. I glance at her and she looks away.
"This is was with the things we brought back from France," Edward says, triumphantly, "I do remember now—wait is this what those people keep trying to kill us for?"
"People with Red Crosses on their shirts?" I ask, tiredly. Templars. I really can't stand these guys.
"Yes, those are the ones," Edward says, laughing, "So—this is a funny story. When Will and I took this, among other things—I'd lost my flag, so they didn't know who I am. And so every so often they see us out and about, still haven't figured out they're committing high treason."
"It's not that funny actually," William says.
"How long has this been going on?" I ask.
"Not long," Kat says, covering her face with one hand.
"Two years," Edward says, lightly, "Since we returned from France. They followed us here. Not at all effective assassins. It's really been quite amusing actually."
"Do we know why they want it back?" I ask.
"Funnily enough haven't asked," Edward says.
"Two years—none of you asked? Okay, well, that sounds like a problem, can I borrow it and then return it in like maybe two or three days? I just need to use it to contain this ghost," I say.
"Of course, we're glad to help. It's not doing us any good," Edward says, good naturedly.
"Do you know where it is now?" William asks.
"No, but Pippa will now that I know what I'm asking about, it wasn't worth selling, so she had it locked up wherever she locks up—clever things I bring home," Edward shrugs.
"Excellent, thank you," I say, even though I feel bad that he's having to ask his wife where it is.
"Glad to help with your mysterious quest, Saint isn't it—? Kat isn't—,"
"No, that's not who he is. He's someone else," Kat says, immediately.
Oh, I'm such an idiot. I have to jam my fist in my mouth before I start laughing.
"Right, so he's apparently trying to catch a wizard who used to be in my father's court. Who is now a ghost or something? Is that what you people do when you die become ghosts and kill people?" Edward asks.
"No, when I died and was a ghost I just haunted people and was generally annoying. Well, my friends didn't mind being haunted," I say.
"No, most wizards can't turn into ghosts," Kat says.
"Whose service are you in?" William asks.
"A noble, whose name I'm not a liberty to disclose, but it's a relative of yours," I say, lightly, glancing over at Kat who looks like she's thinking about bolting.
"Well, that doesn't narrow it down. I've relatives in France certainly hope you're not preserving them," Edward says, more amused than not.
"No, I don't tend to work with the French as a rule, I'll swear on anything you like that you'd be quite in favor of preserving this person," I say. Well, he'd love Henry V, might not understand Henry VI but he's empathetic enough of a dad not to want anything to happen to the boy.
"Have your secrets. I'd like to know what becomes of Wren though, as I said he didn't seem like a bad sort. Never spoke," Edward says.
"He was under a curse. I lifted it but, it appears he's still not pleased with me, or my friends," I say.
"Who cursed him?" William asks.
"A sorcerer who I've punched in the face, don't worry, he learned his lesson," I say. Well Courtenay might not be capable of learning. I did try though.
The pub door opens and we all turn.  A young man, boy I suppose, is walking in and upon laying eyes on me moves to walk right back out, obvious panic in his soft blue eyes, so identical to his mother's.
"Come in, Myrddin, I figured it out two minutes ago—sit down, both of you," I say, when Kat moves to bolt as well.
Myrddin slinks to join his sister at the table visibly cringing. His hair is short and dark, slicked back, and though he's pale he's not as fair as his mother, and his eyes are the same exact soft blue and wide set like my own.  Both of them look at me with obvious concern.
I'm surprised. But I realize I shouldn't be. Where else would I find my teenagers than attending a joust and getting actively involved in the 100 years war? I genuinely don't know what I expected.
"Please don't tell mom?" Myrddin says, weakly.
"I'm not mad. You come by it naturally," I say, feeling bad they're genuinely worried about seeing me. Is this how my children react to me?
"Do not tell mom, we said we're in Scotland,  please? It's one amulet," Kat sighs.
"Oh, I'm definitely telling your mother, but you're not born yet, so she'll get over it in the next what sixteen years? Don't tell me, you know what, tell me nothing, we can't do this, laws of time, associated complications," I say, rubbing my face, "We all know we can't do this. That's incidentally why I probably tell you not to be here?"
"We're having fun," Myrddin sighs.
"And you're also here," Kat points out.
"I did say you came by it naturally," I sigh.
"Do you—know each other?" William asks, looking between us. This whole conversation has been going in Welsh, of course, but it was obviously been between people who clearly know each other very well.
"We don't know him," Kat says, pointing at me.
"No," Myrddin says, nicely, arm around his sister.
"Yes, we're all wizards, they know exactly who I am," I say, "And they can corroborate my story."
"No, we can't, we don't know what you're doing here," Kat says.
"Ghost. Windsor. Christmas," I say, waving a hand.
"Does not narrow it down— have you not met yourself?" Myrddin asks, twisting his fingers in his shirt.
"Oh that's fair," I say, "I'm getting this amulet because a ghost is haunting us it's to do with the Beggar's Tomb? Do I tell you about that?"
"Oh, yes, okay we know what he's doing," Kat says, quickly.
"What what—oh yeah that you do tell us about this sorry. Don't look at me like that, tad, this sort of thing happens to you fairly often," Myrddin says, still twisting his hands in his shirt and looking at the amulet, not at me. That's probably good because I probably visually react to him calling me father for the first time. Tad means father, or dad, in Welsh. For whatever reason I didn't think he would so casually. He's a prince of wales, I'm no one at all.
"It does," I say, quietly. If the others do recognize the welsh term of endearment they don't note it. Right now I'm just twenty two, these two are maybe seventeen and sixteen. Myrddin's face is soft with youth, and Kat's is too with girls it's harder to tell but they're both soft cheeked and smooth jawed, with few scars on their hands and soft fingers. Kat braids her hair like her mother does. 
"Is this what we're looking for? We have this, the Templars keep trying to take it," Myrddin says, picking up the amulet piece.
"We'd gotten that far," William says.
"It's not going to do you any good though. It's a sorcerer's amulet, not a wizard's, you can't use it anymore than we can," Myrddin says, handing it back to me.
"Well I have sorcerers who can use it," I say.
"You're going to trust Courtenay?" Kat asks.
"No, I'd rather set myself on fire, I'll black mail him to do it properly," I say.
"Just ask Uncle Jasper to do it if he's around," Myrddin says.
"Oh good idea he'll enjoy that," I say. He's a baby, but it's fine he'll still enjoy it.
"Lowri might be able to do it, I don't know," Kat asks.
"Worth a try," I say, putting the piece back in my pocket, carefully.
"Let's get off home then! It's somewhere at Windsor certainly, and these two can show you around," Edward says, gesturing to my children generously as they wince.  How much are they hanging out here? You know what? I'm going to worry about that in like seventeen years. Obviously I don't die or they'd be acting more happy to see me I'd hope. I don't think I'd die, I have pretty good plot armor at this point, but you never know. I might become a ghost again and then they wouldn't super care about seeing me as they get to see me all the time.
"Ten men are outside, with swords," William says, staying Edward with a hand, as he leans to look out the window.
"Really?" Edward, completely entertained.
"Templars, I saw them earlier at the joust, I've been avoiding them all day," Myrddin says.
"Have you?" I ask.
"So, we were minding our own business—," Kat begins.
"Shh, not right now," William waves at us to stop talking. "They're going to come in here and try to kill us again so please focus?"
"Not a problem, really," I say, shaking out my hands.
"Oh, you can't use magic," Edward says, pleasantly.
"What?" I ask.
"Magic is illegal," Myrddin says, tiredly.
"What?" I look at the maker of laws who has been chatting pleasantly with me for the last hour.
"So, it's illegal, unless in service of the crown. But I'd prefer if no one knows I'm here because I want to go back to the tournament tomorrow if my hand doesn't swell up. So. No magic, just swords, fun," Edward slaps the table, standing up.
"Easy, ten of them, two each," Kat says, cheerfully.
"Why are we always this chaotic?" I mutter, hand on my sword.
"I've always just blamed you," Myrddin grins.