The Last Princes of Wales (Violent Delights Book 7)

Chapter 6: The siege, December 1407-February 1408

According to Richard Courtenay

"By the time he was thirty two years old Alexander the Great had conquered over three thousand miles of land, including much of Asia and Mesopotamia."
"And then he died, of exhaustion, at the age of thirty two, because his lover, Hephaestion, died, and was no longer there to tell him not to do things like campaign through winter, or to play with his hair to make him to go to sleep," I say, gently stroking Henry's hair as he lies with his head resting my belly. I'm comfortably warm and full. Remanants of the Christmas feast were easy to procure and now we're lying in front of the fire. It's so warm because Henry got it going well so I stripped my tunic off. Henry did the same and is now lying against me, head resting on my belly. My skin is soft, his rough and thick with muscle. He's so lean I can count the bones in his neck, but he's roped with muscles, lumpy through his chest and belly.
"That is not what happened," Henry says, tipping his head to look at me. I'm half asleep, hand still in his hair gently stroking it. "Alexander died of disease."
"And that would not have happened if Hepheastion had been there to tell him not to campaign in winter," I say. I have a point to make.
"I wasn't going to stay. I was thinking of going to check on them," he says, as if I didn't leave him alone for a week and come back to find him plotting to move every single one of his favorite possessions and himself to a tent in Wales. "Anyway, Alexander died of disease, or possibly poison. That's why I have to be very careful what I eat." He says this then shoves a lump of buttery bread into my mouth.
"And not to campaign in winter. Because disease is rampant. We don't campaign through winter. Certainly not this one," I say, listening to the wind howl through the castle. We're at Southwark house in London, it belongs to Bishop Beaufort, and he invited us to stay for Christmas. I even got my sisters and sister in law to come. My mother didn't, there are things she doesn't want to know. Henry's brothers were invited along with the odd few friends like Scrope or Warwick. The king and queen are at Eltham for the holiday feast. We've got no budget for such things, but Henry's perfectly content spending the holiday cheaply with good food and his favorite wine in a warm castle. Southwark is in London which means he's been able to go to Westminster and make a few appearances for the people. Of course I stayed too. I far prefer this to my family and we've work to get done. So we're lying before a roaring fire, enjoying being warm for once. The black puppy is curled up at my feet. The poor creature is still sickly after the poison but is blessedly very much alive, and now hardly leaves Henry's side.
"It is cold out," he says, gazing at the fire happily. It is bitterly cold. I'm enjoying just sweating in front of the fire now. It's late. We've been working on the campaign all day. I just have to make sure he'll fall asleep then I can fall asleep. Because if he's not and I drift off he'll wake up me in a few moments to talk to him and I really would like to rest. "We've still no guns."
"After the new year your father's health may be worse. Also we are funding the one large gun I know that's not enough but it's a start. Beauforts are on our side."
"Hm, yes, I feel like Tom Beaufort and I together could get into the Tower of London, or myself and Bishop Beaufort, I feel like we could talk our way in and out with a couple of guns," he says, stretching sleepily.
"I mean, I'm not beyond saying that Bishop Beaufort and I are taking them someplace to bless them then just leaving with the things, Warwick would hold the doors for us he's usually down for just about anything, in fact give me enough wine I could probably convince him to pay to ship them," I say, idly.
"Contingency plans. I'd like them properly in my name. If my father has proven nothing it's that he'll tip the board at any given opportunity just to vex me," Henry says, rolling over and crawling up me to rest his head on my sweaty chest, still staring at the flames. He presses the scarred cheek to my skin, flames dancing in his dark eyes, "I know we're almost there. I'd sooner be there though."
"Sometimes, patience is a virtue. You are the prize, Henry. You, yourself. We cannot let you be spoilt by warring through winter. We need you alive. And healthy. You're the soldier in the end but you must play the king. And the king retires to his castle for the winter because he does not need to war. This is a show of strength, even if it feels soft. And it keeps you alive," I say, stroking his hair gently.
"I don't know why you think I can die," he says, reaching up a hand to twist it with mine. He tugs our hands down before his eyes, throwing shadows onto his fine, now sweaty face.
"You may be for the ages but you're caught in the body of a mortal this time around," I say, watching as he idly twists his fingers through mine, "I know it's a strain when you've the mind of Ares."
"Ares was weak. He was caught in a trap, because of his weakness for his lover, Aphrodite. She softened him, drew him away from war, and in the Iliad he joins the wrong side of battle, all for her love," he says.
"All right you're better than a god of old," I laugh, closing my eyes. His head is heavy on my chest. I don't think I've slept in three days.
"Exactly. I'm the new god," he says, bringing my fingers gently to his lips, "Glad you've realized now you can worship me."
I laugh, "Young gods don't usually have good endings."
"Who said anything about ever ending?"