The Last Princes of Wales (Violent Delights Book 7)

Chapter 5: The siege, October, 1407

According to Richard Courtenay

Parliament is held in Gloucester. Henry pressed for that as it meant he could attend. Arundel conceded as King Henry is ailing so greatly that he'll likely be unable to travel far, and he's been staying in the north.
And so.
The players.
On the opposing side is, only the King of England, King Henry. He's just past forty, and in remarkably ill health no one knows why. He can't ride, let alone really walk without assistance. He's been losing political control for years and sadly he knows it. Parliament is sick of his, very ill management of finances. The young, healthy, military minded and well spoke Prince of Wales has never been so attractive to most nobles, half of whom want him to marry their daughters.
On his side, primarily is Arundel, Archbishop Arundel, my nemesis. I hate the man. I know him from Oxford enough to hate him. I wouldn't hate him if he were good at guiding his king, but he simply isn't he wants power. Don't we all but at least be good at it. And he's foolish enough to think that he'll get that power from the ailing, very hot headed King of England, and not the Prince of Wales who will be king in a few short years by the look of it.
And on the opposing side:
My Henry, Prince of Wales, and his faction. That is, primarily, himself and his Beaufort uncles, John, Henry, and Thomas respectively. The Henry Beaufort is a bishop and fellow Oxford scholar, he and I get on well and he's most fond of our Henry. The other two are solidly knights but remain on the side of their nephew. No mystery there, it took until earlier this year for King Henry to confirm them, in their illegitimate birth, as legitimate, but at the same time he barred them and their descendants from any claim to the crown. A mostly useless, petty move. Why? Well only one brother even has descendants, besides which fact King Henry himself has at the moment four boys, and a healthy wife (meaning in theory more children, though likely not in practice). Between four sons thats loads of legitimate heirs. The Beaufort siblings are all younger than Henry, ergo even if they were in line of succession, they'd be about where Edward of York is at the moment, yes fourteenth or fifteenth down but there's no need for anxiety. It would be like Henry barring Humphrey and his descendants from succession there's no point. The crown isn't likely to even get there. And if it does that's a few generations and a couple of wars away. No, it was a petty, spiteful move. He had no need to make it and he alienated all three of the Beauforts in doing it. Which was lovely, because that meant they happily backed their much more amiable nephew. Amiable isn't usually an adjective one uses to describe our Prince of Wales, but compared to his father he's a glowing beacon of empathy. And despite his usual stalwart demeanor he's decidedly loyal to family.
Unfortunately though, that's about it. While we've got the Beauforts they're not massively helpful, in that they don't play a huge role in parliament, and every man is well under forty,  no experience or grey hairs lent to the cause. The only other ally is our speaker of Parliament, Tom Chaucer. Now, Tom Chaucer is, direct cousin to the Beauforts so he tends to lean their way. He's also fond of wine and wit, so I get on with him quite well. He tends to favor the Prince of Wales, if only because King Henry is of the habit of treating him like the help, and while our Henry can be stoic, he's not downright insulting, on the contrary he's fond of cleverness, music, and books which are relatable to one such as Chaucer.
Then there's me. I'm Henry's clerk. My father attended royal councils, and even met both the late King Richard, for whom I'm named, and this King Henry. My father also got locked in the Tower that unfortunate time. We're an old family, but nothing like noble. Ergo, I do not get to attend. Even if Henry's remarkably stubborn about such things I know my own reputation based manly off my personal beauty and I tend to remove myself when he's exercising political influence.
To that end, I don't get to attend Parliament. I love nothing more than politics so this is depressing. Even more depressing is I don't get to watch the Prince of Wales sit crookedly in a chair he's too tall for, looking bored, occasionally making snide remarks primarily when his father is speaking. We've spent all night preparing his motions for Tom Chaucer to read, my eyes are full of sand, and I don't even get to hear them read out. We had to do that sitting up at a table like old men, while people who aren't Green brought us wine, instead of on the floor of his room or tent surrounded by papers unable to move for the mounds of them, eating eel off plates and occasionally throwing balled up bits of paper at each other, as is the normal thing. It was very odd and very boring, and I wondered if this was what it will be like when we are old, sitting at a table with the papers in neat stacks, in some great house neither of us are used to, looking more like old churchman than students, drinking fine wine, Henry bent over in a chair too short for him, legs occasionally knocking mine under the table in lieu of leaning over and putting his hand through my hair. And I looked at him and wondered it. Then I looked at him and that mark already upon his face and wondered if he'd ever grow old. Or when I'll be alone with grey in my hair, someone else across the table, and I'll have to look into the fire and have to wish it were him.
Today I have to settle for passing him in the hall which is frustrating. He's wearing one of his more elaborate blue silk tunics, lancaster esses and all, and ermine fur lining, collar, rings on his fingers he looks every bit the prince. A sharp shock from his ruddy cheeks and soldier's garb a couple short weeks ago.
"You look radiant your highness," I say, bowing unnecessarily.
"You're horrendous," he says, corner of his mouth twitching. He knows damn well I'm pouting I can't be in Parliament.
I press my hand into his, smoothly swapping our rings. I don't know if he prepared me a message but I wrote him one. Get him through parliament.
He takes it, rolling it over in his fingers before putting it on, then presses his hand with my ring on it to his lips, as he swiftly walks away. What was that? Is he taunting me that he goes to Parliament and I don't?
Never mind, and he'll never tell me either that's not who either of us are.
"Morning Richard," Bishop Henry Beaufort beams, he's decked out nearly as finely as Henry, well he's got as much money if not more. Illegitimate or not, Henry's grandfather left every one of his sons with a neat inheritance. Quite a challenge when he had three of them nor is there a good paper trail yet somehow they're all wealthy men. I envy the paperwork, and would adore the chance to replicate such a feat should Henry ever have any illegitimate children. I highly doubt that will come to pass but he's a mystery sometimes, such as the bit with the ring a few moments ago.
"Morning Bishop, were you invited to Parliament?" I ask, frowning.
"No!" he smiles, clearly walking on to Parliament. Seems Henry will have all the fun today.
I round the corner and open the ring's compartment. Sure enough there is a tiny piece of paper rolled up inside. I unroll it carefully. Just one word.
GUNPOWDER!
I sigh, starting at it. No, I won't get to have him when he's old. How can I resist though? The greatest game ever played and here waiting for us, his hand in mine, dark eyes glowing with firelight as he kissed the ruby I pressed into his palm. I won't deny him I know that already. I'm bringing him enough gunpowder to blow himself up. If not today then tomorrow. Someday I'll be ill. I won't be there to stay his hand and he'll run into a fray of my own creation. And he won't come back to me. And we won't get to grow old together. I won't look across a table and see him, face lined from years in the sun, grey in his hair, we won't be plotting some far away war, planning his children's marriages. No, he'll be gone and leave me alone with nothing but the memory of one final cocky grin before he goes where I cannot follow.
And I'll let him do it because there's nothing else to do. I wouldn't have our life any other way, but I do wish it could be long.
Gunpowder. I have my mission today I need to put into motion the financing of it but that won't take all day. It's really unfair I should have offered Tom Chaucer to help in Parliament he likes someone to make sarcastic remarks to throughout such things.
"Master Courtenay?"
"Yes," I stop, turning to a messenger.
"Queen Joan requests your presence," the messenger says.
"Very good, I'll come," Henry's step mother wants to see me? Who she should barely know exists. I'm only one of Henry's Oxford fellows, a prized clerk. Well this will be interesting.