All the World (Hand in Hand Chronicles)

Chapter 3: " With captive kings at his triumphant car"

It does not happen anytime close to the morning. Aimee and Jean show up to cheer me on in the practice jousts with the other knights. I forgot how much of an ass I was yesterday, and they're all incensed. With the two kids checking my stuff and watching my back I don't get sabotaged, so I dehorse a sufficient number of knights to be glowing with success by the time Edward sends for me. I hastily change into a worn red tunic, and throw my other stuff at the children, before following the servant to where Edward is waiting.
He's waiting, as promised, with a row boat. Gold curls are damp in the summer heat and he looks freshly shaven and remarkably like someone who just crawled out of bed. He's wearing simple clothes though, and if it weren't for his height and being so obviously better groomed, he'd be easily mistaken for a member of the staff. He's wearing a faded blue tunic, practical boots, and a belt with a short dagger on it, looks practical and not decorative, though.
For contrast, I'm already sweating, my hair is freshly slicked back, and I have a bruise on my cheek from the joust this morning. It's one of my better tunics but it only just matches his in terms of wear and quality.
"Piers, it's good to see you—oh don't," he waves a hand as I bow correctly, "Everyone is busy with their day here at Langley, I don't stand on tradition as we're not in court. Did you sleep well?"
"Yes—?" I've been up for about seven hours, "I mean yes. Great. I was jousting earlier."
"You were? That's awfully early I thought I was doing well," he laughs, going to the rowboat, "Well get in."
We nearly run into each other because I was expecting to row and clearly so was he. And by 'nearly' I mean, I walk directly into him and he hugs me for some reason and I jump like a wet cat.
"What are you doing?" I ask. I don't think I've been hugged since I left France. Not except for Aimee who barely comes up past my waist. Edward just immediately enveloped me in his arms for a tight squeeze that would be so comforting were he not the prince of England. As he is the prince of England I leap unsure of the affection. Not because he might get in his head to strangle me. No, I think I'd enjoy being strangled by him.
"This is a hug. I'm hugging you," he says, comfortingly, patting my head.
"Why?" I ask.
"You walked into my chest?" he says, clearly prepared to hug me again should the situation arise.
"I'm getting in the boat to row it!" I say.
"So am I!"
We stare at each other.
"I'm confused," he says.
"I assumed I was going to row. I'm the servant," I say.
"Nonsense I enjoy it. Also you're not a servant," he says, climbing in.
"All right," I say, sweating again for no apparent reason. I climb into the boat carefully and he gets in the other side with the oars. He's clearly practiced at this and holds it steady against the dock while I climb in.
"Why would you say you're my servant? You're not," he says, "You're a knight."
"I've not been knighted," I say, fixing my tunic from the hug. That's how good a hug it was. I didn't know I hadn't been hugged properly in two years. My sister counts but a tiny little girl isn't the same as being trapped in strong arms.
"Well you're not a servant. You're my friend," Edward says.
I nearly laugh. I'm not friends with a prince, "That's kind of you to say, my liege."
"I will actually be cross if you don't call me Edward, we're not in court," he says, rowing expertly. Despite his apparently sedentary lifestyle his arms are thicker than mine, and he easily controls the boat.
"Do you do this often?" I ask.
"Yes when I can manage. I enjoy it," he says.
"Why?" I ask, squinting in the sun reflected on the water.
"Fresh air, good physical activity. Clears the head," he says.
"What's your head full of what—an hour after you got up?"
"I got up a quarter of an hour ago. And I've had lots of thoughts since then," he says.
"Oh I can't relate, I've been up since dawn, not a lot going on," I say.
"Now that can't be true, what's the last thing you thought of?"
"Jousting."
"And before that?"
"Also Jousting."
"And before that?"
"Also Jousting," I nod.
"You do love it," he says.
"I suppose," I frown, "I don't think I love things. Well if I did it would be jousting."
"What makes you say that?" He frowns.
"You can't love things, things don't matter. Only people," I say.
"That's not true."
"I'm the cruel one. I got sent here because my family's not wanting me back. I'm sorry but you'll find out I'm not very fun. I'm good at knocking people off horses with a stick that tells you all about my personality," I say.
"Everyone is interesting in their own way. I've never admittedly been drawn to jousting but I'm prepared to learn. Since we did this. Tomorrow, when I wake up. You can come up and tell me about jousting," he says.
"Just come on down, I'll let you knock me off the horse, I won't even hold a lance," I say.
"Eh, I don't think I'd enjoy it. I do think I'd enjoy you coming up to chat to me while I have luncheon," he says.
"Well, respectfully, why am I here then?" I ask, shaking my head, "If you're not interested in jousting or the like that's what I'm good for."
"You said it yourself. My father had you brought in not me—not that I'm not glad you're here," he says, adding the last part quickly.
"Doesn't your father know that you don't want to learn to joust?" I ask.
"It doesn't work like that," he says.
"You're prince," I say, frowning.
"Doesn't mean I get to do whatever I want. Quite the opposite sometimes," he says, sighing a bit, "My father wants you and—other knights but at the moment you—to be a role model for me so I can be a better knight because I'm—well because I'm me. I'm not good enough."
"You're plenty good enough," I say.
"You don't know that! You don't know anything about me," he shakes his head.
"You're the prince though. You're you, by being you you're automatically good enough," I say, "There's no test to pass or monster to fight you exist that's it."
He laughs, "You said you were only good at jousting, Piers."
"I am only good at jousting. But I know if you're prince that's it you don't have to be different. And I would make an awful king so you probably make a great one," I say.
"Well thank you for the encouragement, I do want to be," he says, "And at the moment my father needs to think I will be. I'm the younger son too, I—it wasn't supposed to be me. It was always supposed to be Alphonso, or someone cleverer, better than me. And of course Alphonso was jousting even when he was ten. He was bold, and assertive, and, well, loads of things I'm not. This, you being here, is all a part of my father's program to make me into the knight he wants."
"Is that what you want to do?" I ask.
"Yes of course it is! Don't you want to please your father, Piers? He doesn't like me, but he might if I were only a bit different," he says, desperately, "I just—can't be anything else so what's the point? I'm not going to be a knight like you."
"You don't have to be. But if you want to please the king you can act it," I say.
"I do act it."
"You're my prince and I respect you— no you don't," I say.
He frowns.
"Look you don't have to learn—jousting or sword play. Not properly. But you can learn it enough to act like you know it. I'll teach you, we'll get you carrying a sword with confidence, walking about like you could win a fight, the king never need know you're not up at dawn for jousting if you can dehorse me a time or two in demonstration and look like you know what you're doing," I say.
"You'd help—I can't dehorse you," he says, shaking his head.
"I'd fake it, obviously I can, it's not hard, but then you've done your bit and the king isn't concerned," I say.
"You'd do all that for me?" He frowns.
"Of course I would. You're my prince aren't you? And not like I'm doing fuck all else with my time I'm here for you," I say.
"Yes. Yes, you're here for me," he smiles softly, genuinely pleased now, "All right. I suppose it's not really deception."
"It is but also it's a just cause what's it matter?" I sigh, "You're not going to be jousting or entering your own battles as king anyway."
"My father once killed an assassin with the man's own blade, while he was in the holy land," he says.
"Are you ever going to the holy land?"
"No."
"Well okay then. You rule England and have miserable mean people like me follow you about all your life to kill assassins," I say.
"You'd do that?" He asks, hopefully.
"Odds of me living that long are incredibly low to be honest," I say.
"How long?' He asks, confused.
"Longer than tomorrow? My head smacked four rocks today," I say.
He lets go of an oar to splash me with water, "Piers! What happened to your helmet?"
"It got messed up when it smacked the first of five rocks—at least I think it was five, Christ—-," I laugh as he splashes me again.
"I'm going to outlaw jousting!"
"Don't you fucking dare!" I laugh, splashing him with water as well.
"I will if I like! That's horribly dangerous don't go falling off horses!"
"It's fun!"
"I really don't think so I think you're just smacking your head too much!" He laughs, with each statement we're splashing the other with water.
When we reach shore we're both soaked and laughing, I'm trying to wring out my tunic and Edward shakes water of his hair like a dog.
We're on the shore of what looks like an orchard. Then I identify little tables with beehives set up. The grass is a soft green, thrown with shadows of the trees, and there's rows and rows of flowers, all big and bright blooms, tipping their faces up to the summer sun.
I must pause, for Edward takes my elbow gently.
"Shh, this way, we don't want to disturb the bees," he says, guiding me along the edge of the trees.
I've never seen a bee farm before. I've tasted honey. But I'd not seen it—like this. I didn't imagine it would beautiful. I don't suppose I've imagined many things before I don't think—maybe I don't think so very much. But it's much prettier than I imagined. And I didn't know the quiet would be so loud. I can hear the water rushing and the wind in the trees.
Edward takes my hand to guide me, fingers surprisingly calloused, as he leads me among the trees. He grins conspiratorially, putting a finger to his lips to motion gently for silence. The sunlight fades into his soft gold hair, curls sticking to his still damp skin. And his big hand is thick and warm in mine.
For the strangest reason I'm happy to be lost in these trees. I'm always impatient. I want to get to the end. I want to win the prize. But this afternoon. Despite feeling like I can't breathing. I long to be lost in the soft afternoon sunlight, beneath the shelter of the trees. There's no destination I'm seeking. This is just quiet. Peace. So why is my skin crawling with a strange heat?
None of it makes sense I don't even know what I'm doing here. I don't care either.
I laugh outloud, and Edward takes the opportunity to tug me to his chest, putting his other hand firmly over my mouth. This only makes me laugh harder, for some reason, my body braced against his, just laughing, here in the delicate sunlight.
He begins to laugh as well, and I snake an arm up to cover his mouth. This doesn't help either of us at all, and yet neither of us want to stop or even move at all. His leg is hooked around mine keeping me grounded, which is well I'm sure there's nothing between me and space. He's gentle, his hand curled over my mouth, as he holds me against his thick chest. My hand is softly cupped over his mouth, rough stubble on his cheeks and his soft lips pressed against my skin. And neither one of us want to move. And all I can think is I don't think I've laughed this much in ages. Or been so completely and ecstatically happy. I'm not waiting for anything. I'm not expecting anything or fearing anything.
And he's got his arm across my chest like he's content never letting me go.
"Oh you're doing very well not making any noise aren't you?"
We both jump and laugh harder, still delightfully tangled up. A beekeeper is addressing us, hands on hips, just looking generally more amused than cross. An old man, older than my father. He's got grey hairs. And all I can think of is I won't ever grow old. And I don't even mind at all if I can stand here in the sunlight another moment. That's all.
"Get over here, both of you," the beekeeper says, motioning for us to come.
Edward pushes us forward together, walking with his hand over my mouth which is a very good decision because the moment we clear the trees he lets me go and the first thing out of my horrible little mouth is:
"Why does he get to talk?" I ask, hand on hip, pointing at the beekeeper.
"He's their keeper they know his voice—Piers this is John he's my beekeeper, John this is Piers Gaveston he's my friend," Edward says, fluidly.
I frown, but he doesn't even glance back. Just calmly introducing something like me as his friend. He's probably doing that with a lot of people he's a prince. He's being nice.
"You came just in time, I'm just finishing with a hive," the man says, glancing at me one more time. I glare at him. I know I look like a peasant. The prince brought me. I get to be here.
"Excellent," Edward says, eagerly, leading us over to a table where he's clearly putting honey into jars.
"Isn't it poisonous?" I ask, as he sticks his fingers into it.
Edward stares at me.
"Don't you cook it first?" I ask.
In response Edward sticks both his fingers, sticky with honey, directly into my mouth.
I laugh and choke on the thick honey, sickly sweet and nearly burning my tongue. Edward grins, putting his fingers in his own mouth in order to suck the last of it off.
"How do you always know when I'm harvesting?" The beekeeper laughs.
"Talent," Edward says, taking another finger-full of honey, "How is your wife doing?"
"Much better, the cough is almost gone, thank you," the man says, as he goes back to work.
"I'll send the doctor around again, with some more herbs, best keep it away," Edward says, calmly, studying the honey on his fingers, "Remind me next time I order my sister's coming at the end of summer I like to send her with honey when she goes."
"I will," the man nods.
They continue to dither about pleasantries, Edward clearly knows every person in this man's family and remembers them by name. He is more than happy to make polite conversation with the man for the entirety of our visit. Apparently the trip was to pick up some honey for his kitchens, which he is choosing to do himself? It's odd to say the least but the beekeeper is not in the least surprised by Edward's presence.
Honey collected, I insist on carrying it, we return quietly to the waiting boat.
"You're the prince," I point out, taking the sack of the honey from him.
"It's my errand," he says, shrugging a bit but he lets me have it.
We return and he rows us back. I stare at the rippling water. It's surprisingly peaceful, and I didn't know a day could be spent like this.
"I don't think I've ever been rowing. I go swimming now and then but I hadn't thought of rowing as being enjoyable," I admit, as we dock back near Langley.
"You can swim?" Edward asks, incandescently happy, which should mean something, but it doesn't until I'm being physically tossed back into the river.
I plunge under the cold water and surface just in time to see him surface. Naturally I try to kill him, like actually shove the heir to the throne of England underwater. He's ridiculously happy about this, splashing water in my face and easily tossing me off. He's that much bigger than me he can accomplish that.
"See? I love swimming," he laughs, splashing me merciless.
"THIS ISN'T SWIMMING THIS IS HATE!!" I cry, pouncing on him again. This time I get my arms around his neck so he just gets us out of the water and runs halfway up the shore. By now people have gathered.
I drop off, red faced and assuming it's over. That's in retrospect very stupid. I'm standing there fuming, sweating and dripping with cold river water, hair hanging and pasted to my face. Brimming over with rage. Of course he was going to tackle me back in. I would tackle me back in. His staff were probably ready to pay him to tackle me back in.
He tackles me back in.