Trials of Gideon Book 1: The Cursed Blade

Chapter 5: In the name of the father, the son, and their favourite cannon

We return to Shrewsbury, 1403. I am not up to fudging the time, so as much time has passed there, as we've had pass, so about three or four hours start to finish. Thankfully, the Lancaster camp has not improved as people since we left.  We take the precaution of going invisible and using the glamour, but it's fine I think everyone is too stressed out to notice us. Not everyone is stressed out, but one person has all the tension of a wind up toy and is bopping around spreading it with remarkable efficiency.
Prince Hal looks like he's having some sort mental break down. He and his chief men and Scrope are lined up, waiting to receive his father. There's dust on the horizon, so the King's army is nearing.
"He's never negotiated a thing, successfully, in his life. He is the reason Hotspur has revolted. I watched him time and again fail to win our mother's good grace simply because he could not swallow his pride. I have perfectly acceptable terms they took hours they're finely worded and crafted I would have saved my entire army and Hotspur's noble life and now no one shall read them," Prince Hal breathes. Stock brokers in a recession have nothing on his current stress levels. I can see veins in the boy's neck, and he's quite literally a nervous twitch, constantly fiddling with his armor. It would be funny if it weren't sad.
"Are you, seriously, this upset. STILL. That we all don't have to die?" Scrope chokes, so disappointed in his friend.
"It was perfect! It is perfect! My plan would have worked even with my father's forces we're still just barely evenly matched, they have the better terrain beyond the Abby, I have no wish to send my men into Welsh longbows, my terms are entirely generous, all he need to do was travel like a normal person, sixty miles—he should not be here!" Hal says, nearly ringing his hands.
"You're upset we're getting relief. Which we prayed for," Scrope reiterates.
"Hal, now, the scouts say they hardly slept to race to come here," Fastolf says, like trying to soothe a shy horse, kind of like holding his hand up and everything.
"It's hard to sleep in a full suit of armor," Hal growls. His father does that, nobody knows why. I guess time? But like, so uncomfortable. Anyway.
"With the king's army we won't be slaughtered," Scrope says, incredulously, "I am not understanding whatever this current—what you have going on—is."
"I offered Hotspur surrender with terms he knows he won't get from my father, promising him his life! It's a dispute he's no traitor he feels wronged I know him—I know him. He won't take it. But I offer. Then I offer single combat—,"
"Single combat which you've never beaten him in ever," Scrope says.
"I have," Hal says, tugging on his hair.
"When?" Everyone present, so tired of his lies.
"When I fought him and won."
"Why are you always lying?" Oldcastle sighs.
"And when he took the single combat, I would win, which I would and I have in the past and if I for some reason through some entirely unlikely act of God I did not, then he would take my troops prisoner he has no desire to shed English blood— and I would not die he would not kill a prince of England it would be a death sentence he's too clever for that. As his captives we then could bargain for escape I have means to raise the funds to ransom us—,"
"You do?" Fastolf interested.
"—either way it's a perfectly reason plan and so much better than whatever is about to happen it's written up it just needs to be delivered to Hotspur, this is all so frustrating he's not going to listen to me I can feel it, he's not going to, he never will he never has he's jealous, holding my crown when I'm god's chosen king—,"
"Hal," Oldcastle takes hold of the boy's shoulders, shaking him. "Is this your precious parlay demands?" He holds up the paper in one of the prince's hands.
"Yes," Hal says, slowly.
"Okay, then. You shut your damn mouth. You don't remind everyone you're cleverer than them every five minutes despite being so. And when you father who does not read or write if he can help it, asks if you've written up a generic parlay, whatever it is he says, you say 'yes' then you close your damn mouth again. And you have them deliver this. And your father will not read it to check because I have reasonable doubts to whether or not the man can read, got it?" Oldcastle asks, shaking Hal by the shoulders.
"This is the sort of critical thinking we need in this army," Hal says, slowly wrapping an arm around Oldcastle's neck, "Do you hear that? Now why did none of you think of that?"
"We were too busy listening to you to be able to think?" Scrope offers.
"We don't actually advocate lying to your father the king?" Fastolf, pleasantly, like he anticipates the king blaming and killing him for the prince's next actions.
"Problem solving, this is what I'm talking about. You remain useful Oldcastle," Hal says, with obvious affection.
"When questioned it was Jack's idea," Oldcastle says, pleasantly.
"Oh thanks," Fastolf mutters, "Yes, tell the king I said to lie to him lovely. I want my head on a stick someplace."
"Nobody is lying to the king," Hal says, probably the most dishonest thing ever to pass his lips.
Within five minutes, the King's party arrives. Henry IV, a usurper king, consistently one of the richer men in England. He's the first surviving son of John of Gaunt, and inherits none of his father's tact or cunning. He's power hungry, but not a great people pleaser. Neither charismatic nor charming, he'll have issues his entire reign with rebels and plots to depose him. Red haired, and much shorter in stature than his son, or father, he's a normal looking man except for the odd air of power about him. He's not a sentimental man nor a compassionate father, with little patience for his children, he'll have affairs most of his life, married and otherwise, not as much of a womanizer as John of Gaunt was, but getting close. He's not going to be popular with his nobles, nor his people really, though he is the first english king, to natively speak English. The others all spoke French. He speaks French as well at home, but he is bilingual and is the first english king to deliver his coronation speech in English.
Right now he's barely thirty six years old. Fathering his eldest child in his late teens, he's nothing like the old man productions of the Henriad would portray. He's still young and fit, now, though in a few years disease will start racking his body, likely an STD picked up on campaign. At the moment though there's little sign of that. He dismounts fluidly from his small charger, he's wearing a long red cloak, and coronet, and is in full armor save the helmet.
Prince Hal moves to greet him, bowing swiftly, and in an Academy Award winning performance, embraces his father, tears fresh on his soft cheeks, "Words cannot express how glad I am to see you."
"You thought I wouldn't make it?" King Henry asks, embracing his boy all the same. The son is nearly a head taller than his father, and looks little like him. This King Henry has red blonde hair, and pale blue eyes, skin rife with freckles from the sun, a scruffy, auburn beard, round face. Ever the soldier, though underneath there's a healthy dose of the spoiled boy who got every girl and every treasure his heart desired, even his cousin's crown. Prince Hal is tall, and lean, still growing and nearly awkward, with deep brown eyes and equally dark wavy hair, ruddy skin that goes red before it freckles. 
"We feared we were lost, Hotspur is nearly upon us his bands size rivals yours. My men are ready but I am desperate for your counsel," Hal says, nearly choked up, like it's beautiful give this boy an Emmy, "Sixty miles, we did not believe you'd make it in three days time. It is truly a miracle from God."
"I would not abandon you," King Henry who originally left the sixteen year old alone on campaign with no back up and alienated Hotspur.
"My prayers were answered," Hal says, tears in his eyes.
Don't worry, it's not that touching a scene. Fastolf is standing on the other side of the King, behind him, mouthing 'you are over acting' at Hal who is acting like Fastolf doesn't exist. Scrope has a poker face but he looks like he wants to throw up. Oldcastle is looking so done with this family.
The men converge and Hal beckons his father to show him the battle lines. King Henry gives some quick orders to the troops to get their camp set up. And Oisin and I decide to join King Henry's army.
"There's enough they won't wonder who we are, and it beats being invisible," Oisin says.
"I'm all for that, let's hope father and son are too busy trying to communicate that they don't notice we're lurking and they've not seen us before," I say, as we pilfer King Henry's spare stuff for emblems of his army.
"They're Lancasters, they're easily distracted by each other, as well as sounds and colors," Oisin predicts.
They are at that.
They don't even actually make it back to Hal's tent. They act like they are going to move, but they just start talking. That actually goes moderately well, thanks to our supporting cast who are performing the job of a greek chorus directly behind the king. Oldcastle, Fastolf, and Scrope, are lined up, doing complex but subtle hand gestures, to the effect of 'stop talking' and 'close your mouth', and 'don't look at him look at me' and 'really, stop talking', while attempting to immediately look normal if anyone like the king looks at them. They are not good at this, but the king is also not overly observant when presented with his very verbal sixteen year old. I had no idea that 'shut the fuck up' could be made into an interpretive dance, but Hal deserves an award not only for not cracking up at this attempt to preserve his and his father's relationship, but also for completely ignoring their recommendations to stop being the way he is.
Hal is, despite his chorus line, very competently quizzing his father on the status of his army.
"How are the bowmen? They've marched sixty miles did you send them to rest? I've got arrows for perhaps three hours rapid fire my supplies came in last week, I was assuming you'd muster behind Shrewsberry we have coverage of one hill we use that to our advantage what numbers are your cavalry? I estimated several thousand—," Hal, not actually fully pausing for answers, though he's getting them from a small man standing next to the king, as Hal sorts through a ledger he produced from Scrope's bag. Apparently he makes Scrope just carry his evil plans about.
"Three thousand, yes they stopped just past the city, they're making their tents," the man standing by the king answers, like very resigned to this line of questioning from the actual child.
"Thomas stop answering him," the king finally recovers from the shock of being exposed to his firstborn again, holding up a hand. I'm assuming that Thomas means Thomas Erridge, one of Henry IV's chief knights, and a solid friend of the Lancasters. They've campaigned together for years, and Erridge will remain a friend of our Henry V.
"The men will need at least six hours rest after a march like that but we estimate Hotspur will probably reach us within three hours time, well before nightfall, his bowmen on the hill I wanted it's better land but we won't make it in time now if you'd been an hour earlier perhaps but no matter I'm sure you did your best, did someone say how many arrows you brought? My bowmen will need them I'm setting up my lines they'll sleep in position they're fine they've been practicing—," Hal, still not pausing fully for answers, going through his checklist of things to do, so competently. His cheering section are making more desperate but subtle pleas for him to stop talking. Scrope now wrote 'really shut up' on a piece of paper and is holding it up looking like he longs for death or something else less painful than this conversation.
"Stop, Hal, everything is in place," King Henry says, holding up a hand in between the boy and his precious papers. He's clearly annoyed at the line of questioning, but his military mind is unable not to be impressed with his son's enthusiasm, though it's quickly turning to irritation. "Did you just say that you got a shipment of more arrows?"
"Yes, bodkin head, but only a thousand arrived last week I need several more if I'm to—," Hal, fully prepared to keep talking.
"I didn't send you arrows," his father, frowning.
"I know that. Erridge, did you have numbers on what your force can spare for mine? My men are well rested compared to yours who've just bolted from Scotland so I've assigned ten to acclimate yours to the field and help them find accurate positions we're dreadfully short of good terrain no hills nor marsh that's all closer to the river so I was thinking—,"
"Stop talking," King Henry growls, with enough force that his son actually obeys.
"Father," Prince Hal says, very obsequiously given the tension building in his neck. At him actually stopping his friends are acting encouraging like 'yeah keep doing that, closing your mouth, good job' and general 'we believe in you' gestures.
"Where did you get arrows?" King Henry asks.
"I funded and sent for them. My supplies were too minimal to support an assault, I'll be happy to show you my account books and preparations I have all that in my tent—,"
"Stop selling things for supplies! I send you sufficient supports," King Henry says, so tired of this kid already.
"Do you, though?" Prince Hal asks, full venom seeping into his voice.
Fastolf, Oldcastle, and Scrope, all cover their faces and look away, giving up on their prince who is no longer doing anything like a passing imitation of a person. King Henry, is so surprised by his son's rapid turn, and the emotionless, terribly cruel stare, his son's true countenance now finally revealed all pretense of humanity dropped, that the king is unable to react for a moment.
Erridge, who would rather they both fight Hotspur than each other, steps in, "Your grace, you said to notify you when the cannon was being unloaded."
"You brought the canon?"
"It's here?"
Father and son are instantly distracted. Erridge, who got no new information, just chose to say that to break them up, nods and points in the general direction of some carts, where the cannon is being in fact unloaded, and has been this entire time.
The cannon, Henry IV's only cannon, known as the King's Daughter. The moniker comes as a joke among the men, that is, handle this thing as gently as you would the King's daughter, that's how much he loves it. Henry V will continue to love thing, and get it siblings, four by the time he's sieging Menuex. But for now it's just one lovely cannon that they're both ridiculously attached to. Henry IV was planning to use it in Scotland, he doesn't need it here. I mean, they can fire it generally if they want to and I'm sure they will, but these things are for sieging castles, you know Henry V's favorite pastime.
I'm not saying I don't love the cannons as well, they're awesome. Huge, implements of destruction, set on wheels and capable of knocking down a castle wall.
"Let's go help them unload it," I tell Oisin.
"Sure, why not," Oisin doesn't like cannons. I'm not clear why he's also not clear why I like them but he supports me.
Henry IV's army is disorganized enough not to even question who are and to let us help, the thing is huge and heavy, it's quite a production to get it out of a wagon and assembled on dry ground.
"There, left wheel, right, you can tell by the wear this one will need to be replaced soon have you not got a spare?" I ask one of the men.
"You really don't have to help them," Oisin breaths, well aware I'm going to ignore him.
Meanwhile, king and prince have reached us to go to either side of the cannon to stare at it, lovingly.
"Seriously though, if this wheel gives out it won't take the kick back, we can likely repair it in town," I say, to one of the other men helping unload. The man just takes it from me.
"When was the shaft last oiled?" Prince Hal asks, bending to inspect, touching the metal lovingly.
"Looks like weeks at best," I answer, I wince I'm used to to him asking me questions. Of course he doesn't recognize me nor will he meet me for thirty some years. 
"Three weeks, we were intended to be in Scotland by now," the King answers, actually amiably, kneeling as well to examine it.
"Scrope see that the stewards are given proper supplies," Prince Hal says, gesturing for me to go.
"Yes, my lord," Scrope, tiredly, not even surprised we're focusing on a cannon right now.
He's really not my favorite person. To be fair I wasn't expecting that. Like, I knew he wound up getting involved in the Southampton plot, but to be fair I have also met our Henry V and that is somewhat justified. I get looking at this person and his ego and lack of regard for human life and going 'yeah you should probably not be in charge of things'. The issue though is, you simply cannot have a king who is a humanitarian. Why? Well you end up with a Henry VI, who is nothing but kind and merciful and wants to do things peaceably, yeah, the bad guys tear him apart. The greedy, power hungry men of his court are always going to take advantage of that good nature and forgiveness. So our good man, our good king? He gets to accomplish relatively little because the bad guys overwhelm him. You don't get nice politicians. It's the Henry V's of the world, the ones ruthless enough, and callous enough, clever enough, to hold the crown, that survive, preventing civil war. Now, Henry V is admittedly not ideal the invading France thing is a bit much. However. Yeah, this crown prince in front of us is too clever for anyone's good and has ten different plans, trusts no one, and is a god unto himself. But, he's also sociopathic and level headed enough to make the right call and keep a clear head, even according to legend when a cannon blows up the tent he was standing next to. He has to. It's the surgeon mentality, you can't have a doctor who is freaking out about the child he's operating on and fearing for the parents and the child's life and all else. No, the surgeon knows how to do his job and has to put all that out of his mind. Similarly you can't have a king who is going to agonize over casualties or want to give second chances to people who oppose him. With a lot of love for Henry VI, again he's a good man, that's how he and his son wind up getting killed. In short he's too nice. You have to have a healthy mix of it, for sure. Richard II will actually like his father be a decent mix of empathy and practicality, he tries to keep a handle on things, and by surrendering the crown to Henry IV he saves his own army from being slaughtered. He makes the call to sacrifice his own life and hopefully save his brothers and many of his men. And it mostly works.
The long and short of what I'm saying is, I get why Scrope and to an extent Oldcastle are a little freaked out by our Prince Hal and everything that he is. But the thing is, which I think Fastolf sees, he can't be anything else. A Henry VI, who is a great guy very merciful very kind? Yeah, he loses the crown and most of his friends die with him. Henry V keeps himself and his friends alive, powerful enough in life that his government remains stable for a solid fifteen years after his death with a child king on the throne. Again, he's not perfect and I will absolutely follow Henry VI to end of the earth because he is a good man, however. This is the man who will get the job done, who will survive, who will maintain an empire. He has to be what he is anyone else in his position would have lost the crown, in fact he personally is more than half the reason his father kept the crown.
Anyway. Point is. I get where Scrope is coming from. I do. I spent a lot of time on the internet, reading old books on archive.org, a lot of time on Wikipedia, on my own, to come to that assessment. Scrope is young, he hasn't done that research and he's being actively exposed to our Prince Hal on a daily basis. He's understandably going through the realization that this terrible, deceitful, self serving, egotistical, brilliant mess of an actual teenager, is going to be in charge of a whole country one day and look at the damage he's doing as just a prince? I forgive that, and I get it.
I do not however forgive Scrope's callous disregard for this nice cannon that didn't ask to be hauled to Scotland and back. Two people (me and Prince Hal) both tell Scrope the sort of oil we need and he still doesn't get it right and I have to send him back again. And he takes like, forever and smells like wine when he gets back. And when I and the others are fixing it all Scrope wants to do is try to leave even though Prince Hal did tell him very clearly to see that the cannon was all right (it's not it needs love). And while he's standing there watching not helping he just makes unhelpful remarks like 'why is he hugging the cannon?' And 'why would you kiss a cannon' and 'why are all of you insane?' And 'who is this guy who has been standing here laughing the whole time?'
Yeah, Oisin at least finds the situation entertaining enough. He likes watching me help fix the cannon even if he doesn't like the cannon he wants me to be happy.
As a side note, I think someone needs to tell Prince Hal it is way too easy to infiltrate his father's army. Like, seriously. We just showed up and started helping saying we'd been there the whole time and everyone was like 'cool, no need to fact check that'. Prince Hal's army is inundated with the new people so they can't keep track and just assume we did come with the other army.
Once the cannon is safe and fully assembled, we drift on back into camp to catch up with the royals, who are still trying to communicate. Hal has his cheering section loitering around and the King has a reasonable number of followers as well. Like, in theory these people should be helping, but they are just watching this is entertainment at this point. Interestingly enough, the general mood in both camps is that most everyone is team Hal. The silver tongued boy has already shown remarkable cunning and decent strategy, nor is he likely to shy away from a fight himself, a quality they all admire. Also, while he's got nothing against risking their lives at least the risks have great gain. And Hal is excellent at presenting this. His father has much more bully tactics, using brute force over maneuvers, which tend to cost the men their lives.
They've moved out of Hal's tent, presumably so more spectators can watch. Hal has maps laid out, with pieces, not the maps he was drawing on apparently he hid those. Also, I saw his tent last night, he hid a lot. Like a lot of things including but not limited to, half his ledgers, two musical instruments, a tapestry, his sword, and the dog. The dog is laying underneath the table so it's not technically hidden but by the way Hal kneed it under the table I don't think the King is meant to fully know it's here.
"You'll lead a line," King Henry looks like he's entering a new phase of psychosis after several hours exposure to his eldest son. He's noticeably more rigid, with three new nervous ticks about his hands, as he struggles between admiring the boy's intelligence and being annoyed that the kid is not only better liked than he is, but is a superior strategist.  "Here, with your men, and several thousand of my reinforcements, so we're in two flanks." He's not saying it like, nicely explaining it, or like he's giving him a good honor, it's like he's hoping the kid doesn't come back. He has three more sons that wouldn't even inconvenience him.
"Of course. Um—if I may," Hal says, very calmly. He's back to his full on very passable impression of a person. His face is soft with subtle but kind expressions, eyes gentle, he's almost stooped so as not to tower over his kingly father than he already is,  rolling his lips and all around doing a very good job of pretending to be a sixteen year old boy nervous before a battle. "Could you explain to me, from your expertise for my—education—,"
His cheering squad is like, so proud of him right now. Scrope is doing a 'you got this but we don't believe in you' series of gestures, Fastolf is nodding like proud as a father watching his son ride a bike for the first time, just clasping his hands so encouraging and proud.  Oldcastle is like miming clapping. Do other people see this? Yeah, but they are King Henry's men and they appear to nearly be having some sort betting/drinking contest going on with this conversation.
"—I was really wondering um—as Hotspur has the hill, and marsh to put his long bows behind WHY would we IN GOD'S NAME charge with full force in an angled V and NOT split our 20,000 into four waves. Of five, two waves of five on either side, to draw his arrows we each lead a charge then two trusted battalions on horses, take the hill from either side two thousand here and two here, to prevent escape and take out their bowmen, reserving one fresh line of at least a thousand when their bow support is done, you lead that in, to capture Hotspur and the rebel leaders, rather than let Douglas escape we cut it off there and there, ending fighting in maybe four hours, from dawn with our bowmen behind the ditches I've begun digging—why um, can you—explain to me for my learning why—we are not, doing—something—like that?" Hal asks, very hesitantly like this just occurred to him despite the detail of the question.
"Because that would not work, we cannot divide our men as you say," King Henry says.
"Um—okay—why?" Prince Hal asks, like he's very confused but clearly quivering with rage.
"I take it our prince is right?" Oisin mutters to me.
"Basically, he's right that Hotspur has the high ground, and equal or superior forces. Hal, is taking a lesson or seven from the Black Prince, who was simply put a genius in maneuvering around France's superior army and grasp of the terrain. He worked smarter, and faster, than them, improvising maneuvers of his flanks to, like Hal is suggesting, cut off escape and overwhelm them. It's one of the few ways to win against an army of superior force. Hal's mostly right, like, there's not a great reason to charge a larger army, and their longbows, directly, don't walk into their trap," I whisper, as we shift back a little.
"Makes sense, you don't walk into long bows," Oisin says.
"Correct. They've got bows as well but—," I say, "King Henry isn't a bad solider, but his life policy is 'use force'. Counting on simply overwhelming your opponent—it's a fools game and incidentally it's how the French lose France. Naturally our crown prince is a master at manipulation and mind games. Even if he didn't fully cut off the escape splitting the army draws bow fire, and it will at the very least break their lines. Capture Hotspur the day is won, if Hal can get closer to him by splitting the lines he finishes the battle saving some of his men," I say, "Same reason he offered single combat."
"Very humanitarian."
"I mean, yes, however he wants to win, above all else, doesn't care who dies to do it, make no mistake this is his game he'll win it," I say, "Hence his clever parlay. He's given Hotspur some nice options."
"Yes, why doesn't he take it? As you've said Hotspur is an experienced soldier, King Henry's age or older."
"Older," I nod.
"So why not? I would agree to fight a sixteen year old boy," Oisin says, "He'd win, more than likely, and save a battle and capture a prince. Or surrender and he'll not be harmed? Why fight now just for glory?"
"Because by all accounts, that nice terms of surrender that Hal drew up? Hotspur never reads it. Historically it's not believed he ever got it, the messengers didn't deliver the demands, so Hotspur orders to attack. He dies for nothing," I say, a bit sadly, "He'll trade insults with Henry IV, and the actual terms won't ever reach him. They fight at dusk. A stupid, stupid move after hours of mostly arguing between Hotspur and Henry IV. And over half these soldiers will die out there in the dark, in a rain of arrows."