The Last Princes of Wales (Violent Delights Book 7)

Chapter 3: The siege, September 1407

According to Ieuan ap Gryffud

"I haven't seen Harry in over a day," I say, coming down to the dining hall, "And a storm's brewing."
"You think he left?" Rhys asks, rolling a coin between his fingers, "Why would he do that?"
"I don't know but he's not been out there checking the soldiers and making more of them desert or whatever he does," I say, sitting down at the table.
"Probably coming up with surrender demands," Owain says.
"Oh I've a feeling those have been written for months," Louis says, pacing by the window.
"Really? What do you know?" Rhys asks.
"I wish nothing. And yet. If the prince has disappeared it means something worse is brewing," Louis predicts.
"Worse than losing our minds while he waits us out?"

According to Richard Beauchamp, the Earl of Warwick

We've been outside this castle three weeks now. The heat has lifted and a cool wind is blowing already. Winter will come soon.
"Bad omen," Edward says, staring at the sky.
"What?" I ask.
"Birds. They know winter's coming early," he says. He's a man of few words, that is to say I don't really mind him. But he tends to believe the best in people and be easily led. Which makes him a danger to himself, and the rest of us if he trusts the wrong person. In general though he keeps to the animals.
"It is," I say. It's just dawn. Today is the day. "We'll be home soon. You'll be back in York."
"I suppose," Edward says, softly.
"Oi, Warwick, I thought I told you to go and see if the prince is awake yet, and tell him it's looking like rain," Oldcastle calls, climbing up the hill to us.
"Aye, that you did," I nod.
He stares at me.
"And the prince is awake. No I did not go in I got this information from Green. The prince's been up for hours," I say.
"And? Why did you not tell him a storm is coming and therefore get him out here?" Oldcastle asks.
"Because apparently the prince has been up for some three hours because he and his favorite person fell asleep playing chess sometime past midnight, then woke up three hours ago and resumed their game without a second thought and they are still at that and no I'm not going in there. That amounts to fornication with them and that's a no, I'm not going in. I've been less embarrassed dragging mates out of brothels or that one significant time, a drunk Scrope out of his wife's bed at her request long story doesn't matter, point being those incidents were less embarrassing than breaking that up, no, I'm not doing it," I say, folding my arms.
Oldcastle stares at us.
"Have Scrope do it he's disgusting with the prince," I say.
Oldcastle looks at me then Edward.
"I went in once and they didn't break eye contact for ten minutes," Edward shrugs.
"That short?" I ask, pleasantly.
"Oh I was only in there ten minutes," he says.
"You could send someone else to do it?" Oldcastle says.
"I'm not a cruel man. Anyway, Green is enabling he's bringing them wine and food," I say, "So's Balne for that matter apparently he made them food in the middle of the night. They've been at it since yesterday morning. Consider, we're all bored, it's better than him rechecking things that have already been done."
"Is it one long game, or multiple short ones?" Edward asks.
"I don't know Green knows more than I do if you can get it out of him."
"You two let that boy play chess for over a day? Is this what happens when I check the far camp?" Oldcastle asks.
"Yes," I nod, "Basically."
"Richard. You have a wife. You'll have a son someday," Oldcastle says, disappointed.
"Aye, nothing wrong with the girl. She can be my heir. Also yes I do let her do whatever she likes if that's what you're getting at," I say, shrugging, "I can discipline if necessary but if the energetic thing is happy and not injuring itself I say let it be."
"Is it just me or is camp remarkably quiet and peaceful?" Scrope asks, coming to join us.
"You've been up perhaps an hour," I say.
"Two, I had Morning mass and then did my morning rounds that Hal came up with for me," Scrope says.
"We have Morning mass?" Edward and I ask, in unison.
"Look I did not know we were doing that," I say.
"I really didn't either I thought it was off," Edward says.
"No, it's not off," Scrope says, "Where do you think the prince is every morning?"
"I don't question it? But generally asleep like Courtenay is at that hour?" I ask. My tent is near Courtenay's to prevent him being murdered. I don't really mind the dogs like us both and he's good for a late night chat and game of cards if he's done with paperwork and Henry's not needing him. And he's got some sort of hostage in his tent, that doesn't speak a lick of english, and Courtenay doesn't speak the hostage's language whatever it is, so that's been a lot of fun.
"You're very good catholics the pair of you," Oldcastle says, judgmentally.
"You're not there either?" Scrope says.
"Correct. I asked the prince if I could pray and do worship in private with my own confessor and chaplain and he said that was fine it didn't bother him," Oldcastle says, "As lovely as it must be to see—apparently just Scrope, at sunrise."
"The Prince comes too," Scrope says, hurt.
"So it's just you and the prince?" I laugh.
"It's also supposed to be you, all of you," Scrope growls.
"I actually asked," Oldcastle says.
"I actually attend like a good Christian," Scrope says.
"Is this, happening every morning?" Edward asks.
"Yes," Scrope says.
"And you do it every morning?" Edward asks.
"Yes," Scrope says.
"Are the men having to do it?" I laugh.
"Yes!" Scrope says.
"Jesus Christ no wonder they're deserting in droves," I laugh.
"You're going to hell," Scrope says, flatly.
"You're all distinctly horrible," Oldcastle says, "Do you actually ever think about God when it's not a requirement?"
"No, why would we do that?" I ask.
"We go to mass, on Saturday and Sunday," Edward says.
"No, I think we need to circle back to him getting up at dawn after serving the prince all night, for fun or whatever?" I ask.
"It's called faith," Scrope says.
"True he does do that but he needs prayers we don't do things," Edward says.
"Exactly, I walk around following orders, don't need prayers," I say.
"Is that a dig?" Scrope asks, hand on his chest offended.
"Calm down, just because you've got localized areas in which to sin," I say, "We're glad you pray over it and wash it clean."
"Okay, fuck you Warwick," Scrope says.
"Your life," I shrug.
"That's not how any of it works, also, break it up. This is what happens when an army sits about with nothing to do for weeks on end you're all at each other's throats," Oldcastle says.
"They're usually like this," Scrope says, pointing at myself and Edward.
"We aren't better," I confirm.
"I'm telling the prince you need an occupation," Oldcastle says.
"No!"
"Don't do that!"
"Please don't do that!"
"We're actually begging you!"
"We'll get on!"
"We'll go to morning mass!"
"We'll definitely think about it!"
We trip over ourselves to stop him.
"Too late, also I've decided every one of you needs religion, might not even matter which one, stop walking away Warwick," Oldcastle growls.
"You're a duke he can't talk to us like that," I say, to Edward.
"Shut up, Warwick, we are all reporting to the Prince," Oldcastle says.
"No, I've had such a nice morning," Scrope sighs.
"What happened to being his best friend?" I ask.
"The prince happened actually," Scrope mutters.
"Come. All three of you," Oldcastle snaps his fingers like we're dogs. We reluctantly obey.
Henry's tent is lit up due to the overcast day, with torches burning outside. Green lets us in, having been collecting a tray of food. A couple of dogs run up to greet us. Edward and I pet them and Scrope says, "Why do they drool constantly?"
Inside the tent Henry is sitting opposite Courtenay at a chessboard. It's a light wooden one, clearly meant for travel. The men are making unblinking eye contact then staring down at the board.
"Your Highness, if I may," Oldcastle says, pausing near Henry.
"Two minutes, John," Henry says, holding up a hand delicately. He then slowly moves just one pawn.
Courtenay immediately moves a knight.
They stare at each other.
"Checkmate?"
"Checkmate."
They both stand up and embrace quickly, laughing.
"That's not checkmate the game isn't over," Edward frowns.
"They both knew all the possible moves and which one was going to win," I say. I've seen them play before they'll quit ten moves from the end if they've both predicted the endgame. That or play through at double speed.
"Eighteen to sixteen, you're getting old," Henry says, tugging on Courtenay's hair.
"Good game, I've never felt closer to Jesus," Courtenay laughs. Yesterday when they started was Sunday.
"Ah, next time we'll go for best out of twenty five and you won't fall asleep," Henry says, cheerfully, going to reset the pieces.
"You never know," Courtenay says, stretching and petting two of the dogs that have come to lick his hands.
"Right Oldcastle, is it dawn already?" Henry asks.
"It is, as you requested, I'm reporting to you," Oldcastle says, formally.
"Lovely. Yes, go and prepare a party of guards to convey a parlay," Henry says, dark eyes flashing.
"Yes," I say.
"Yes," Courtenay pumps a fist.
"We're sending surrender demands?" Scrope follows slowly.
"Finally?" Edward asks, softly.
"Who's doing it?" Scrope asks, folding his arms.
"Well. We need someone who is purely aggravating. Someone whose presence is so vile that the Welshmen will agree to anything to make this person leave their country. Someone who they morally can't kill, but also we do not mind losing due to how utterly disgusting this person is," Henry says, pointing generally at Courtenay who is pointing cheerfully at himself.
"Courtenay you don't self identify to that sort of speech. We talked about this last week," I sigh, "One Richard to another you do need more self esteem."
"I borrow the prince's self esteem. Anyway, I like being disgusting. Don't glare Scrope I might get murdered," Courtenay says, winking at Scrope, as he pets a dog that's leaning on his legs.
"Yes, we share, I lend him self esteem and he lends me Latin conjugations it's a very normal system, I think many use it," Henry says, going to put on his armor.
"What you're sending him and—guards?" Scrope asks, "Has he ever negotiated something like this before?"
"First time for everything. In all seriousness I can't send them a useful prisoner," Henry says.
"Let me go dressed as a simple knight. I won't wear my colors. You know how much I like watching him lie to people it's how I got through Christmas at Windsor," I say.
"Again, all seriousness, we can't send them a valuable hostage to relay the demands, they could take one of you for ransom. Nobody, and I mean nobody, wants him back. He's a minor priest from Devon and dressed in holy robes he's untouchable so they can't kill him, it's standard to use priests to do negotiations anyway and I'm not having someone with a real job like my chaplains do it," Henry says, "Why did you think I brought him, Scrope, for your pleasure?"
"He's right, it's a clerk's job," Oldcastle says, "I'm with Warwick though shouldn't one of us go in disguise to keep an eye on him?"
"Yeah, you might be upset if he didn't come back," Edward under states our concern for Henry's concern for the priest.
"I think I'd be okay," Henry says, rather sarcastically, "Yes, I do think that I'll survive. Anyway, I can't risk having one of you taken prisoner, should the negotiations not go well."
"Oh do you doubt me?" Courtenay asks, mock hurt.
"I plan for every eventuality," Henry says, "Including someone actually seeing through at least half your lies."
"Impossible," Courtenay says, cheerfully.
"All right, as you will. I'm saying I'm no good ransom I don't mind going," Oldcastle says. It's true he's not a noble like Edward and I, or even Scrope. Hell, Courtenay probably is closer to nobility than Oldcastle, his family is old Devon money. His father and mine I think warred together, anyway I'd actually met him before Henry had. Their estates were secured by his father and grandfather, so they're a bit newer money but I'm sure there's nothing in the Powderham estates for a ransom.
"No, but unlike him you're useful," Henry says, very nicely.
"I should desert," Courtenay says. We all ignore him.
"I do like watching him lie though," I say.
"I noticed at Christmas when you gave him wine and left him with my grandmother, no, I've decided neither of you need that sort of encouragement," Henry says, amused. Oh that was funny. I was not sober, and the priest likely wasn't either and I kept giving him wine and Henry's grandmother was there and I don't know what she thinks happened to Henry's face, Thomas, the king's face and skin, or the war in France or Wales, or who in god's name Courtenay is, but it is nothing like the truth.
"That was a good holiday," Courtenay nods, biting his lip to keep from smiling, "Am I dismissed to go get my papers together?"
"Yes, go," Henry nods, "The rest of you, go ready your men. If the negotiations go well we could agree to fight."
"Did you just say 'if they go well'?" Scrope asks, halfway out the tent.
"That he did," Courtenay says, pushing past him.
"That he did," I say, wandering over to where Henry's getting ready.
"What?" He asks, glancing over at me.
"Chess all night now this?" I raise an eyebrow.
"I just needed quiet," he says, "To be ready. It should work."
"They're starving. And he could talk a fish into wedding a cat, it'll work," I say, nodding, "We've got them surrounded. It's over."
"Just a question of when it's over," Henry says, softly, "I need to win. Every time."
"So you play chess with the only person who can beat you, to remind you how much you hate losing," I say.
"You might be clever, Warwick," he smiles, "Come. We've a parlay to see to."