Seat of Mars

Chapter 2: their watches on unto mine eyes...

Richard

"They're not here."
I jerk away, but my dog still lies beside me so my hand on my sword is stayed. The animal is calm. I am not murdered yet. I sit up. I was asleep before the fire, sitting up, sword in my hand. As though I am the villain. If I am righteous why do I know fear? I look up, red eyed. I was weeping last night.
Roger is perched in the window, looking out.
"Seeing how climbable it was. We're moving your room. But they're not here," he says, looking out at the grey day, sunlight filtering through the clouds onto his fine face. My elder brother, though we look nothing alike, and in fact Roger looks like no one at all. Pale, with milky blue eyes and fair white curls, he's like our father in feature but he's fair though his mother was not either so it's not clear why he's simply already a phantom. Lean like our father and more wraith than man, he's never been far from my side much to his credit.
"What?" I ask.
"Climbable, don't know why they put you in this room I got right up," he gestures to the window with a gloved hand.  Of course he got right up. He can climb anything. Once Exeter swore he couldn't climb out of the Tower of London he immediately did.
Despite the cold fall day he's in a tunic with no sleeves revealing thick, if perpetually sun burnt biceps, as usual he wears thick leather gauntlets, and gloves, beneath the gloves I'm sure he wears wicked metal rings, weapons of his own design that make a single punch even more deadly, and he's not a small man. The blacksmith's boy. His grandfather, was my father's blacksmith, and that blacksmith's daughter was Roger's mother. Like most smiths she learned the trade from her family and ran our forge after her father's death. No husband, no. She passed a few years ago, outliving our father. She taught Roger the trade, though he has always been a knight. That said he can use a forge if put to it, and will design his own weapons, he and Exeter bond over that. They don't even like each other, they just both love weapons and also each other which is confusing to them but they manage somehow.
"What—what do you mean they're not here?" I ask, quietly, my mouth is dry. I fell asleep there not even daring to drift off my usual beaker of wine for company.
"Not here. We've secured the Windsor grounds, working our way through the forest, seems the Lancasters are holed up in London," Roger says.
"Damn—no that's—that's good," I sigh, standing.
"I'll send in your men, they were letting you sleep, thought I'd check the window," Roger says, dropping into the room. My big wolfhound, Math, runs up to greet him, tail wagging. The dog would not be so friendly should someone other than Roger have just done that. In fact most anyone.
"How are they not at Windsor?" I ask, rubbing my face. I need to think. I know what I feel like. And it's been a while since I had any. Wine.
"I don't know," Roger shakes his head, softly, "But they aren't we're secure for the present."
"And —and the women?" I ask. Isabela, and our cousin Philippa, and the other women of the household. They're all mine to protect and I left them here virtually unguarded. Well. I had no idea the threat would come from within.
"Not back yet, it's not to worry," Roger says, nodding encouragingly.
"Everything is to worry," I breath, as he goes to the door.
He's no sooner opened the door than it's nearly smashing into his face and Exeter is cramming his way in. Because old habits are hard to break Roger naturally attempts to close the door despite our brother being in it.
"What is it, Exeter?" I ask, taking a long breath, pleased I didn't stutter.
"Right—stay—I said stay—we need to talk," Exeter says, just forcing his way in, he's littler than Roger or I, yet all the cruelness is condensed. His red hair is limp and sticking to his face and I swear there's blood on his armor.
"Is that blood?" Roger asks, oh good Roger thinks so as well.
"Not important—," Exeter says, holding up bloody hands. I'm not going to worry about that normally I would but at the moment we're under attack there's lots and lots of people he can strangle in a legal sense not a moral one I have to send my confessor to him I did promise our mother Focus Richard Focus.
"What is it?" I ask, forcing myself to ignore that blood is actively dripping from a pouch on his girdle.
"Do you have someone's hand in there or something?"  Roger asks.
"No," Exeter says, not at all genuinely.
"You do," I say.
"It's some other body part then? To whom did it belong?" Roger asks, sweetly, hands clasped.
"Lancaster spy we caught on the edge of the grounds, not there anymore, so by all accounts they don't know we're here not what I came to talk about," Exeter says, hands on hips.
"Is it about why you thought you'd save it?" Roger asks, still completely pleasant.
"No! It's about him," Exeter points at Roger.
"What?" I ask, looking between them. They get on even if they pretend not to.
"His information to flee Conwy was good. At the time he didn't tell us his source now we've got time and I'd like to know," Exeter says, "Where he's getting this accurate information about the Lancasters."
"Oh, yes, Roger who did tell you?" I ask.
"A contact. I can't give you any more information," Roger sighs.
"What do you mean? It's only us," I say.
"See? He's up to something," Exeter says. I'm fairly sure he's wanted Roger to be up to something since they were both ten years old. Roger always has been, but Exeter can't catch him at it. It amuses Roger and infuriates Exeter to no end.
"Just tell us this person's name," I say.
"It's for the safety of who is feeding me the information," Roger sighs, "I can't speak it, but know that the intelligence I have gotten is good."
"Why not?" Exeter asks, immediately.
"What? It's a woman?" I ask, gently. I know my brother isn't married and I'm not naive. He's disappeared for weeks to months at a time as an art form. Would do it even when our father was alive. Our father laughed and said he would turn up eventually, and he always did, with a new scar or three, entirely pleased with himself.
"The person who gave me this information is someone whom I know intimately I can say that but no more besides that the  information has been correct," Roger sighs.
"Well then I know who it is? Tell me. Why can't you tell me?" Exeter asks.
"Leave him, Ex—it's, Roger it's fine then if this is someone you were once close with and that person is kind enough to be giving us good information then we'll take it. I agree we don't need to risk the lady's position or reputation," I say. I don't think either of my brothers would care much about adultery well we all know Exeter thought himself a service nay a gift to lonely widows and young wives of old soldiers. Interestingly enough those women's fathers and husbands did not think he was such a gift to humanity. I highly doubt Roger's got fewer sins he's just cleverer at it.
"Thank you," Roger says, dipping his head.
"No, it's fine, Exeter it doesn't matter and if the—good lady is now in service of the Lancasters—then we'll take what we can get at the moment," I say.
"You think some whore of his is now sleeping with Bolingbroke and passing information back to him?" Exeter asks.
"I wasn't going to say it like that," I shrug.
Roger shrugs, "I fully believe the statement does fit the situation."
"No that does not at all follow —he—," Exeter looks at Roger.
"You want to finish that statement outside?" Roger asks, examining his gloved hand which I know to be entirely lethal in one punch at the moment. And he and Exeter have been known to come to blows before.
"No—stop—the last thing I need is infighting. Whatever, lady, Roger is associated with we'll take her help gladly," I say, holding up a hand, and petting my dog with the other one. "Now, do you have any new word on the girls? Exeter?"
"No," he glares more at Roger who is still looking at his gloved hands.
"I've sent a team they'll collect them shortly," Roger says, coolly.
"Is there—any way that that 'team' is not Gilles and a rope?" Exeter asks.
"I don't know who he's talking about," Roger says, completely confused. Clearly, he's genuinely confused, "Do you have me mistaken for someone else?"
"Gilles? Another Cheapside 'associate' of yours," Exeter snarls, "Magic Rope-Gilles?"
"I have no idea who he's talking about," Roger says.
"I don't care, just get them back, Exeter, stop bothering Roger he clearly doesn't know any more," I say.
Exeter sighs, deeply, he puts his face in his hands.
"Thank you both, now, we'll need to be on our guard lest the Lancaster's discover us, they could send men here at any moment. For now we're operating as though a siege is imminent while we regroup, and raise men," I say, "We have to operate as though they already know we're at Windsor."