All the World (Hand in Hand Chronicles)

Chapter 4: " To live in grief and baleful discontent"

"I don't feel like talking about it," I say, walking back into my rooms. I'm completely soaked to the skin, bruised from jousting, and this afternoon I was happier than I'd ever felt before.
"What happened to you?" Aimee asks, sitting up at her desk.
"What the fuck did I just say?" I ask, stripping off my wet tunic, angrily.
"Did you have a nice time?" she asks, hesitantly.
"Yes! I had a lovely time, I haven't laughed that much in ages, and it was perfectly pleasant and Lord Edward is entirely kind," I say, frothing with hate, as I toss my wet tunic to the floor and try to kick off my soaking boots.
"Then why are you so angry?" Aimee asks, slowly.
"I find it relaxing!" I snarl.
"You're mad because you didn't want to think he's nice because it's easier for you to hate everyone ever, that's where you're comfortable but you can't hate him," she says.
"Get out of here with your accuracy," I say, slinging the wet tunic at her. She giggles.
"I will be, as pissed off as I want to be, about this, got it?" I growl, "I'm going to be very mad for a very long time. Now. I'm going to find my gloves. Then I'm going to go spar until I'm bleeding in a couple of places."
"Go easy on Jean!" She calls, as I just stalk out the door with no shirt.
"I will not!" I shout.
I go and spar until I'm bleeding in three places and Jean is begging me not to have him hold up the pads anymore. My knuckles are bloodied and I'm satisfyingly sore. I'm not really dry I just went from dripping wet, to sweaty, but I decide to call that good and go back inside. It's time for supper and I'm now too tired to think properly, which was the intent.
When I return to the room I find stewards dropping off new sets of clothes, not just for me but for Aimee as well. I did not order any clothes.
"Who are you? Get out," I say, knife drawn.
"Lord Edward's orders," the man says, not even perturbed, putting down a stack of clothes, a couple of dresses for a little girl, and then several tunics that look about my size.
"What?" I ask, still holding my knife.
"Why?" Aimee asks, standing behind me and tugging on my knife arm for some reason.
"Service," the man grunts, leaving.
We look at each other then at the door.
"That's odd," Aimee says.
"What's he playing at?" I ask, touching the tunics. One is velvet, lined with fur, another silk. Far nicer than I've ever had cause to own. I joust, and I'm a knight. I might have one good tunic and I've probably grown out of it.
"He's friends with you," she says, "Maybe he's going to summon you to court."
"He'd better not I'm not court material. I'll ask him," I say, "Don't touch any of it."
"It's not poisoned," she sighs.
"Well we don't know that at the moment do we? We don't even know who that fellow was," I say, "I'll ask Lord Edward in the morning."
Morning comes and I remember he doesn't wake up easily so I go and spar for a while, then go up to Langley and ask after him.
This time they're happy to show me to the prince. He's not inside Langley at all, instead having gotten up at a somewhat normal hour, and gone out to survey is greyhounds. Survey is a rather nice way of saying, 'generally pet and be kissed by', because much more snuggling of soft dogs is going on, than actual assessment.
"My lord," I bow properly.
"Hello Piers! You look less angry than usual this morning," Edward says, a greyhound in his arms, kissing his fine face.
"That's unintentional—did you send me and my sister—clothes last night?" I ask.
"Yes? Well night before last I had Big Rob, that's one my valets, Big Rob, I told him to get it together for you I suppose it'd come last night yes. Why do you ask?" Edward asks.
"Because that's not normal! People don't just send people lots of clothes," I say, exasperated.
"Well I've seen you wear that tunic more than once," Edward says, "And you've not been here that long."
"Yes that's because I have about four tunics, I'm a knight—why would you send me clothes?" I ask.
"To be nice? I'm sorry why are we both confused?" Edward asks.
"I don't know but it makes me angry. Ugh. Thank you for the clothes. Please don't do that again," I say.
"I understand. I'm going to anyway. I do whatever I want and I probably want to toss you in a river again so I'll probably send you more clothes. Plus if you're helping me you have to come to dinner with me so you have to look nice so you have to let me dress you it's not a discussion I sent you a green tunic it'll bring out your eyes," he says.
"What?" I say.
"Your eyes are green."
"They are not," I say, hands on hips.
"They've got green in them."
"No, they don't. I think I know what color my eyes are," I growl.
I don't, as it happens, know what color my eyes are. Or I didn't until he stared into them.
"They're mossy green, with like, there's shades of brown over it then there's this thick mossy green it's really lovely," Edward says, cupping my face in his big hands to study my eyes, "I like it. Hasn't anyone ever told you that before?"
"No," I breath, glowing with rage and I don't know why, "Nobody's told me that before. Now are we sparring or not?"
"Oh I don't know if we have to do that today. I was busy," he says, dropping his hands.
"Were you 'busy' walking around chatting to the staff and petting various pets?" I ask, hands back on hips, as annoyed as I can manage.
"Yes," he says, very quietly.
"Come," I say.
"No, I don't have to. We'll do it tomorrow," he nods.
"If you come spar with me right now I'll wear your stupid green tunic with its stupid buckles to some stupid awful fancy dinner and be properly miserable," I say.
"Deal," he says, completely pleased, "I'll meet you at the training—grounds. Place."
"No. You'll walk with me right now because otherwise you'll get distracted and dither on about how you were 'busy' which you're completely not, and then try to hold me to dinner," I say.
"I'd really sooner not can't we think of something else?" He asks.
"Look, do you want to impress the king or not?" I ask, quietly.
"I suppose," he hangs his head a bit.
"Right so let's go and get it done, and I'll look like an idiot tonight," I say, "It's fun, I promise, this is what I do all the time."
"All right," Edward sighs, "But you have to wear the green tunic and dance."
"Fine," I don't even know why I'm doing this. Why am I helping him?
Together, we go back to the sparring grounds, where other knights are setting up for the day. I find pads, a sword, and shield for myself, and Edward's men outfit him. He's clearly got his own mostly unused things.
Sparring with the sword goes decently well. Edward's tall enough to be a good opponent, but he fights like he was trained by a man half his size.
"Stop dodging, stand your ground I'm littler than you," I say, adjusting his grip, "Who taught you to hold this was shorter, protect your legs it's all half of us can reach."
"Right," Edward says, but he's clearly unhappy, or at least, not as at ease as he was in the boat yesterday.
After a couple of drills I call it quits. The idea isn't that he get terribly good it's that he look like he's terribly good, or at least comfortable.
I persuade him into jousting. That goes, infinitely worse.
"This is dangerous why are we doing it again—?"
"Fun! Now get on. I'm not going to have a stick you just try to strike me off," I say, climbing on my mare. He has a thick chestnut charger whose nose he pets before he mounts. The horse clearly knows and likes him, but is also clearly unfamiliar with the pitch.
"Won't you get hurt doing that?" Edward asks.
"No, I'll be grand," I promise.
We charge and he doesn't hit me. It doesn't look like he tries to hit me. The third time of that I get suspicious.
"Are you—even trying?" I ask.
"You're supposed to be patient."
"But are you?"
"No! I can't do it I don't want to strike you," he says.
"We're doing it again," I say.
"Fine well I'm still not striking you."
"Fine," I say.
We charge again, he as promised doesn't strike me. I, being an ass, throw myself off the horse and to the ground anyway. Since it was planned I don't hit too badly and simply roll.
Edward is dismounted and to my side before I can properly sit up.
"What happened, are you all right—? You ass," He shoves me as I start to laugh.
"Told you I wouldn't get hurt. Nothing to damage," I say, rapping my head with one fist.
"You idiot," Edward laughs, pushing me back down as I laugh, "Don't do that again!"
"What fall off a horse? I'm definitely going to," I laugh, clutching my belly.
"Your going to supper, you're dancing twice, AND you're wearing the green tunic," Edward says, pushing me back down before getting up himself.
I do go to dinner. And I wear the stupid velvet tunic. And I look entirely ridiculous.
It's a court dinner. With loads of people there, older than me, who I don't know. I instantly regret ever agreeing to this.
Women in fine dresses. Everything smells of wine. Music is playing but I don't even see minstrels. And the king is here. He's taller than anyone, dressed in fine silks he's at the head of the room laughing and talking with his men.
I shrink away from the table. People are being seated but mostly still mingling. I don't belong here. This isn't my crowd of people I belong in the jousting ring. Everything was simpler when I agreed to it and it was Edward and I and he'd just cupped my face in his hands to tell me what color my eyes are. I still don't believe him. I haven't seen my eyes like that. How could he? Not that I own a mirror.
"Well well the little French rat all dressed up."
I turn to see a couple of men looking me up and down, clearly amused by my now fine clothes.
"He might as well have dressed up one of the hounds," another man with him laughs.
"I have no idea who you are, and I don't really care. Lord Edward invited me so I came," I say, holding my hands. But inside I'm burning with anger. Of course I look out of place. Of course I look like a dog dressed up in silks. I know I don't belong here. I already know.
"Of course you did. Like rats to cheese," the first one laughs. He's probably a bit older than me? I don't know but the blood is rushing to my head. "Gaveston isn't it? You're one of the little imports from Gascony. You really think you can get your claws into the crown prince? He'll discard you once he's through with the novelty of your smell."
"Once more, I don't even know who you are, Dog, but at least I have better entertainments than mocking poor boys in borrowed clothes," I snarl, before wading away into the crowd.
The man's word's sting because they're true. I don't belong here. I'm just Lord Edward's current pet. I'm not anyone. This isn't my world. And I look stupid in fine clothes I'm just a soldier. I shouldn't have ever come. I can't stand their eyes on me. All of them. Just leave me alone.
"You must be the Gaveston boy."
I jump at the sound of my name, and turn quickly. A man, probably ten years my senior, is the speaker. He's in dark, admittedly fine robes. He smiles in amusement at my surprise.
"Yes—my lord. Piers," I say, ducking my head respectfully.
"John of Brittany, good to meet you. You're the scrappy little one who went against orders and took arms with us, didn't you?" He asks.
"Yes," I say, nodding.
"Good for you. The king said he'd brought you here to aid the prince," he rolls his shoulders.
"I'm a sparring partner, I don't know why Lord Edward invited me," I say, prepared to offer to go.
"I do," he laughs a little, "It wasn't to stand in a corner I'm sure."
"I don't fit in, I don't know anyone," I say, "I didn't even recognize you and we were on the same campaign. I'm not good with people."
"I am. It's why I'm here, incidentally. In the world but also the party. My father's Earl of Richmond, so like you I'm a bit spare at the moment though admittedly I'll one day inherit. You can me Richmond, by the way, most everyone does. Too many Johns," he says, waving a hand idly.
"So—sorry why are you here?" I ask, not following.
"Officially I'm cousin to the king. Unofficially I'm the negotiator. I'm silver tongued. Therefore I have value," he says.
"I see," I say, despite not really seeing, "You don't sound French—?"
"I was raised here, with my cousins, I actually played with our Lord Edward's older brother, Henry. He died young. Many men do," he looks at me, "I've seen you tilt, man, you walk as though expect to die young."
"I'm just a solider," I say.
"Never was much good at jousting."
"I never was much good at parties," I say.
"That one isn't either," he says, nodding across the room.
Edward is chatting with a few nobles. He's wearing a deep blue tunic, edged in fur with gold accents and jeweled buttons. He looks every bit the prince.
"What do you mean? He's great at talking to people. Anyone he meets he chats with like they're his best friend," I say.
"Common people yes. Real people. This isn't real, Piers, it's smoke and mirrors. Illusions of power and fine words. Nothing more," he says.
"Is it?" I ask.
"Hm. Yes. I hope you never find out I'm right. Stick to the tilts if you're clever. Marry some nice girl. And think of some way to live and not die young," he says.
"How do you know I think I'll die young?" I ask, softly.
"It's painted on your face, especially when you look at him. Like you know you're on way out. Stop that. It's childish fear of what it takes to grow up, which happens whether you like it or not," Richmond says, sipping from a cup of wine.
I don't know what to say to that so I watch Edward, who is still chatting with some nobles.
"How are you settling in here at Langley? You're forever out jousting. But not with our Lord Edward. How odd when you're here for him."
"Oh he and I practice—often I'm surprised you haven't seen," I say.
"My god you're a terrible liar," he scoffs.
"How dare you contradict me?"
"That's it? That's all you've got? Heaven help you boy," he sighs.
"I'm a man."
"You can't even shave."
I glare, folding my arms.
"No, I'm pleased you're loyal to the prince. God knows you'll both need it, but don't let me keep you," he says.
"What? No don't walk away from me you can't—," I'm only halfway through the rant when Edward simply spins me around by the shoulders.
"You came! I'm so glad, you look lovely see? I knew this was your color," he says, tugging on my tunic happily, "You look so nice!"
"My lord," I say, half trying to bow even though he's holding me by the shoulders.
"Come there's lots of people I want you to meet, what were you doing in that corner?"
"Talking to someone named Richmond?"
"Oh he's fine but dull, stop glaring, you're not being kidnapped."
"This is just my face."
"No it isn't," he says, massing the wrinkles from my forehead with calloused fingers.
"There, better."
"No, not better—ugh," I mutter, but I trail after him anyway.
"Elizabeth, this is Gaveston who I was telling you about," Edward says, pushing me forward and presenting me to a fine lady, not unlike a child shows a tutor a frog they just caught. He actually holds me by the tunic with one hand to keep me from bolting, and uses the other hand to gesture to me with absolute pride.
"So this is the famous Gaveston," the woman says. On closer inspection she might not be much older than Edward and I, perhaps twenty, with gold hair spun up behind her head, and soft blue eyes.
"I'm not famous at all—my lady," I say.
"You are in certain circles," she says.
"Liz—Piers this is my sister, Elizabeth, but she's only two years older than me so when we were little we'd always play together," Edward explains, shaking me by the back of the tunic.
"Yes. I've heard a lot about you," Elizabeth says, smiling in amusement.
"Liz," Edward laughs. At least he's stopping her from embarrassing me. But her smile at least is kind.
"Jousting, and I hear he's even got you rowing. Next thing you know you'll know all the dog's names," Elizabeth says, amused.
"I've enjoyed my time at Langley," I say, diplomatically.
"He's not been to a proper dinner before isn't it splendid?" Edward asks, shaking me by the back of the tunic.
"Is he just towing you around so you don't escape?" Elizabeth asks, pleasantly.
"I prefer it, I don't do well left to my own devices," I admit.
"I'm sure you're fine," she smiles, warmly.
"Stop everything—my lord, my lady—Lord Edward did the —person—you're holding upright just call Arundel a 'Dog'?" An older man, probably my father's age, comes up to slap Edward on the back. He's dressed in nearly black robes, though rather fine, and looks like he's been laughing for some time.
"He wouldn't—well he might, Gaveston?" Edward asks me, nicely, still holding the back of my tunic.
"I don't know who that is. But that does sound like me," I admit.
"That's hilarious, how are you not in a duel every hour?" The man laughs.
"I don't know who you are either, because no one introduces themselves, but I usually am actually," I admit.
"Don't let him near your father," the man says to Edward.
"Oh my father likes him, my father is the one who got him for me," Edward says, pleased.
"Piers this is Hugh Despenser, he's rich, and he's lovely at supporting our father's wars AND he finds us funny, so we like him," Elizabeth tells me.
"Was that hard—I mean thank you," I say.
"Sorry Piers I forget I'm used to knowing everyone—he probably did call someone something I'll keep him," Edward says.
"I mean I'm not recommending you do. The man is still sputtering about it. Almost like he shouldn't pick fights with foul mouthed children, evening all," the man says, strolling away.
I try to cry, "I'm not a child," but Edward just covers my mouth preemptively. I don't even mind his hand there and I don't know why.
"And father liked him?" Elizabeth asks.
"He fights people on the field as well," Edward explains, taking his hand off my mouth slowly, "Piers, he is nice really. Maybe—possibly don't talk to anyone else?"
"They talked to me," I say, shaking free of his grip, now cross, "I'm just going to go."
"We're not saying it's your fault—they're all awful. But they're not worth it," Elizabeth says, quickly.
"Yeah half of them are rotten to me," Edward says, "Despener's the only one who's traditionally amusing."
"He's an idiot but he's our kind of idiot. We'll get you up here to meet the cousins soon. We're all good fun," Elizabeth promises.
"I do look like a dressed up dog," I mutter, hanging my head. I just want to go I don't want to meet anyone.
"No you look very nice! Don't let them bother you. I'm sorry you had to meet that lot," Edward says, fixing my tunic for me and patting my chest gently, "I asked you to come because I want to chat to you not them. Aren't I worth more than all of them?"
"Yes," I admit, quietly.
"See? Ignore them, and Despenser was mostly joking, or I think he was, he wasn't cross," Edward says, fixing my hair which I didn't even notice was mussed.
"Father coming," Elizabeth hisses.
"Shit," Edward leaps and sort of pushes me a step away from himself, but keeps his fist knotted in my tunic.
"You don't have to do that I'm fine," I hiss.
"I'm not," he mutters.
"Father!" Elizabeth says, warmly. I sneak a glance at Edward he's gone a shade paler.
The king is as tall and imposing as when I last saw him on the battle field. Then we were both covered in mud, and other men's blood, and I was kneeling in the muck while my father resisted the urge to kill me personally. I was in stolen armor with a stolen sword, still a bit on fire.
Now I'm standing in the middle of a proper party, wearing a crushed velvet green tunic like some sort of lord, with his son using me as some sort weird support system, the princes' fist just knotted in the back of my tunic.
"Your grace," I dip my head respectfully.
"Father," Edward says, not really bowing or anything but he doesn't have to they're in a party. "Have you been out to the dogs lately? The grey dog with the paler stripe was limping this morning and I—,"
"Who is this?" The king cuts off and points I'm just assuming at me.
"Piers Gaveston, father, the knight you brought from Scotland for me," Edward says, tugging me closer very much like I'm a new toy.
"Oh the little Gascon. Yes. All cleaned up and looking like a person," the king says, idly, "How are you finding England?"
"Well my lord," I say, steeling myself, "Lord Edward and I have been having a fine time on the tilt."
"Have you?" The king looks at Edward.
"Yes," Edward says, not overly convincingly.
"What was it this morning? We each broke a lance, got me off my horse once," I say, smoothly as possible, glancing at Edward casually. He still has his fist knotted in my shirt.
"I'm glad your summer is productive," the king says, glancing at me one more time, "Is that how that happened to your face, boy?"
"Ah after, bit of sparring," I say, rubbing the bruise on my cheek.
"Very good," the king says, looking at his son. Then he simply walks on to join another group.
Elizabeth breaths out for all of us, "I'll make sure he doesn't come back."
"Thank you," I nod.
"Why did you say that?" Edward hisses to me, towing me into a corner.
"You wanted me to, didn't you?" I ask.
"You lied to the king? He could—," Edward cuts off.
"I don't care. 'Executed by king for lying about prince's jousting ability' is one of the better ways I'll get killed to be honest," I say.
"But you openly lied that's not what we said—,"
"Yeah for you. You're not going to get good at jousting and who cares if you do or not? I don't. And it's dumb he does I don't care. You're right you're the reason I came I'm here for you, could give a fuck about the rest of them," I sigh.
"Oh god," he sighs.
"What?"
"You're dangerously good for me," he says, gripping my arm, "Promise not to leave my side tonight."
"I promise," I sigh.
He reaches over to strangle me.
"What the fuck are you doing???" I ask, diving away.
"This is a hug I'm hugging you, don't people hug you?" He asks, snatching me in his strong arms anyway.
"No, never! Unless they're my baby sister no, like not at all, what is this?" Why does this feel so warm and nice and comforting like I want to sink into it forever? Have I been missing something all this time? Because this is very soft and secure and I'm just being crushed in his thick arms.
"That's awful!" he says, hugging me tightly.
"Why, how many people do you hug a day?" I mumble, into his shirt.
"Lots my chamber staff, my sisters if they're about, nieces if they're about, just anyone, once my father but that was awful it was gut reaction he nearly hit me," Edward says.
I decide not ask more about that situation or point out that I also nearly hit him he just squeezed me anyway. I submit to the embrace and let him properly snuggle me in his big arms.
"Edward, father wants you, just you," Elizabeth says, tapping her brother's shoulder.
"Shit," Edward breaths.
"It's fine, you'll be fine," I say, patting his shoulders awkwardly as he releases me from the snuggle. I feel surprisingly empty now. "I'll be here. Right here."
"Okay, fine," Edward nods at me, and moves to follow his sister.
I flank them in the crowd. I can perhaps interrupt if it's going really badly? I don't know completely how I'll do that. But surely I can try.
A man takes hold of my shoulder, spinning me around a bit.
"Bit of a tip," he says.
"I don't want to talk to you," I say.
His hand his like a vice on my shoulder. He's very tall and thin dressed in fine red velvet, and is carrying a fiddle, he's also red haired, "You've entered a very dangerous game. One which you're going to lose. So you like him. That's lovely. You're going to have to like winning too if you want to survive. And you won't do it by making enemies."
"And you're the sort of man who wins?" I ask.
"Always. You see power is an illusion. Kings are puppets. Nothing is very real. And what comes to pass is that which you engineer. The song you hear is the one I play. If you think I'm gone I'm merely waiting for the moment to strike. Nothing more. And there are plenty more powerful than you. My advice to you is this, you won't be able to keep him, and to win, unless you're completely willing to lose not only him, but everything. You must gamble your very soul even to play the game. And if you don't? You're nothing but food for the wolves."
"I don't want to win, if it means being a man like you," I snarl, "Now unhand me."
"I can help you. You wouldn't be in this room if you weren't hungry," he says, "Let me feed you, boy."
"That was disturbing and very strange, I don't know who you are. Goodbye, Sir Fiddler," I say, ducking out his grip. The man curls his lip at me, but lets me go. And I had another altercation. Where is Edward?
Oh sitting down at the table near his father that's fine. I recognize the most normal man I've met tonight, Richmond isn't it? Yes. I come to his side, at least he introduced himself.
Elizabeth is next to him.
"Can I sit here?" I ask, checking that I'm in line of sight of Edward. I am. His father is talking to someone else but Edward is clearly sweating.
"Yes please do, Arundel's over there whining about a foul mouthed French knight I assume that's you?" Richmond asks, pleasantly.
"It doesn't have a home," Elizabeth says.
"I don't know but that sounds like me. Also I got accosted by some completely upsetting man chuntering on about power, carrying a fiddle red hair just very creepy?" I say.
"Oh my god you met Lancaster," the both say, immediately.
"I should go tell him how he presents," Richmond laughs.
"I'm sure it's intentional," Elizabeth says, "What did you say to him?"
"I don't know, I told him to let me go," I say, watching Edward, "He grabbed my arm and started being evil and upsetting."
"Yes that's Lancaster, the Thomas version is an earl as well, his brother Henry's much more pleasant, closer to your age. Oh he's vile, but on a comparative scale more pleasant. He's got an odd neck, don't bring it up, my god, again, he's more interesting as a rule and a bit cleverer which is probably why he isn't here," Richmond mutters.
"Oh as if you're not vying for a spot on a Scottish campaign," Elizabeth says.
"That's exactly what I'm doing and god isn't it dull. Need the king to remember I'm here though," Richmond says.
"And look now you have a son," Elizabeth says.
"No, no, no I just wasn't cruel to it. I don't like it. Edward likes it."
"Edward can't take care of Edward."
I don't know what they're arguing about but at least they're not being miserable to me.
"No. I have enough entertainments."
"They were crying and hugging each other in the corner of the room," Elizabeth says.
"Wait, are you talking about me?" I ask, "We weren't crying."
"We have been—Judas's fucking lips, fine. Piers, look at me. I'm your father till—someone appropriate comes and collects you because the idea of the life you're leading is to survive past age twenty. First lesson—you give him hugs which I'm sure he needs, not in rooms crowded with nobility, got it?" Richmond asks.
"I have a father—,"
"The only correct answer to that is 'yes my lord'," he says.
"Yes, my lord?" I frown.
"They're both really dumb, have fun," Elizabeth says, getting up.
"I'm not fond of you at the moment," Richmond calls after her.
"I know," she blows him a kiss.
I'm not sure what just happened but I think I got sold again. At the other side of the table, Edward is finally speaking with his father. I can just make out their conversation.
"How many lances did you break on that french boy?" The king is asking.
"Ah—," Edward glances at me. I raise up two fingers.
"Two," Edward says.
I mouth and make a subtle gesture.
"He aims too high to the right," Edward says, looking at me a little too long.
"You don't usually show an interest," the king says.
"I'll try anything," Edward shrugs a little.
"I'll come and watch you tomorrow."
I make a quick gesture.
"It's swords tomorrow why—it's swords tomorrow," Edward says.
"I'll watch. If you can match at least that boy from Gascon then perhaps you're ready for Scotland," the king says.
"I'm ready," Edward says.
"I'll be the judge of that."
I'm waiting in case I'm needed again, but my focus is interrupted by someone grabbing my shoulder. It's the dog-faced man from earlier.
"This is the boy that insulted me," he says, holding my shoulder. Another man is with him, I don't think I've met this one.
"Is it true you called the Earl of Arundal a Dog?" The man asks.
"There was additional context for my remark like I didn't open a conversation like that —," I begin.
Richmond just puts a hand over my mouth.
"The boy is drunk, my lords. I'm sure all of you recall being drunk and seventeen?" Richmond says, keeping me firmly in place while I try to bite his hand, "Leave him with me."
The mutter but back away at Richmond's commanding tone and iron gaze. He immediately turns it on me, releasing me. I slide away from him a bit, glaring.
"Son, look at me—,"
"You have a son?" I ask, confused.
He moves my wine away from me.
"I haven't had any of that yet," I say, trying to get it back.
"Well you don't need it—,"
"Who's your son?" I ask, "I don't think I insulted him it was just some old men."
"I have no son. And no want for a wife," Richmond says, tiredly, "A woman can offer me nothing, is that not plain enough? I'm trying against my better judgement to help you."
"I don't need help," I say. I suppose he's very rich? He must be if he doesn't need to marry for money.
"Oh how many people did you start a fight with under an hour?" He asks.
"Well I didn't start it—,"
"Piers."
"Fine, I might need help," I admit.
"Dear god where did you get this temper," he sighs.
"I'm the youngest son. Never was anything special, all my life. There's always been something to prove. I'm not going to inherit anything, we're in debt anyway, all I'm good at in the world is jousting," I say.
"Right. You hit your head for recreation," he moves the wine farther away.
"I was thirsty—,"
"You're doing fine without it," he gives me a mug of ale, "You can have that. Slowly. Lesson number 2, don't talk to any of them. Any of them. I don't care what they say to you if you can't respond with decorum shut your mouth."
"I probably can't do that," I say.
"Well you're about to learn to try," he says.
"Piers! Why did you leave—oh you're here you didn't leave, right did you see that? He's going to watch tomorrow," Edward says, knotting his hand in the back of my tunic for support.
"Yeah that's not a problem. You're fine with the sword," I say, "And I'm not going to try to win. I'll just look like it."
"You can do that?" Edward asks.
"Sure, when I was on the tournament circuit, Sometimes they'd try to pay me to lose, so I'd lose a bunch of bouts then come back out ontop so I'd win more bets," I say.
"I didn't understand that, was that an affirmative?" Edward asks.
"Yes," I nod.
"You—get smacked in the head, more than is even strictly necessary?" Richmond breaths.
"Yes, for money," I say.
"I'm going to go pray. Edward, stop holding his clothing in public," Richmond rises, taking my wine cup and his own.
"I can hold him if I want he's my friend," Edward calls.
"I'm recommending you don't!" Richmond says, before downing a cup of wine.
"He's interesting," I say, "Odd fellow."
"Forget about him, we're dueling for my father in the morning I don't have enough hours to be upset about this," Edward says, shaking me by my tunic.
"Ow. It will be fine. How bad can it be?"