Feast of Fools (Violent Delights Book 15)

Part 3: December 21, 1445

According to Jasper Tudor

"Against my better judgement which I sold some years ago in France, I have decided to take all of you, on a boar hunt—yes Harry you can stop hugging him Jasper can come too. I just assumed you'd be bringing him," the Duke of Exeter says. He has us and his three illegitimate sons lined up. It's just past dawn we weren't even told why we were getting up and meeting him.
"Thank you my lord," I say, as Harry chews on my tunic.
"You don't have to thank me—yes William?" He points at his oldest son who is raising his hand.
"Are there even boar in these woods?" William asks.
"I cannot express how unimportant that is to what we are trying to accomplish, now, go and find spears, I came up with this idea instead of sleeping and I'll not be dissuaded by logic. When I was—well a bit older than little Harry I speared a boar at Christmas it was good fun and I want you boys to have a similar opportunity," the Duke says, pleased with himself.
"Was that with the old king?" Thomas asks, hopeful for a story and perhaps not having to do this at all.
"Not at all it was with one of his priests I don't know any more about why that occurred but it did," he says.
"How do we find a boar?" Robert, his younger son, asks.
"I don't really know beyond dogs again that's not really all that important," he says.
"So we're just wandering around in the woods with weapons hoping to get to kill something to avoid talking to everyone annoying back here?" William asks.
"Wrong! We are wandering around the woods with weapons to avoid murdering everyone annoying back here, that's mostly the Duke of Gloucester but the Duke of York is also annoying and my cousin Somerset has his bloody moments he brought a lot of children. All right, any other questions? Little Jasper does your dad know where you are?"
"No, my lord, but he doesn't usually want to," I say, quickly.
"We will go with that then I'm not too concerned," he says.
"Is there a reason Harry's chewing on his clothes?" Thomas asks.
"We don't ask those questions, Tom, what did we talk about last Thursday?" The Duke sighs.
"I get in trouble for chewing on mine," Harry says, before going back to chewing on my tunic.
"So he chews on mine, I don't get in trouble no one properly minds me," I say.
"I think, little brother, the idea of stopping you chewing on clothes was less to stop ruining clothes but instead because it looks very weird. And chewing your best mate's clothes looks weirder. Like, it's worse," Robert says.
"Shh, we don't care that much his mother's the one against the chewing on clothes and rugs and furniture we don't really know why. Go and fetch spears now, this will be fun," the Duke says, clapping his hands.
"If I get gored by a boar can you tell my father I was doing basically anything but what I was?" I ask, raising my hand. I don't want him to worry, or be mad. He's very nervous.
"Most definitely, he doesn't even need to know we were boar hunting."

According to Owen Tudor

"Your younger son went with the Duke of Exeter, my lord, they were going boar hunting," a page says, as I grip the boys' shoulder.
"Did he?" I breath. My heart is stopping my chest.
"Yes my lord. They left early."
"I'm not your lord," I say, quietly, simply turning and walking away. He left. With the Duke of Exeter. One of the long list of people I told him never to voluntarily go places with.
I can still see it as though it were yesterday. Those muddy fields around Rouen. The ground running red with blood.
"Your Majesty are we to put the pieces of bodies some place special or just chuck them in the ditch because I was putting them on stakes but the Earl of Warwick said ditch," the Duke of Exeter, he was a young man then. No less cruel. His great axe upon his back, face sprayed with blood. Simply holding somebody's leg he'd hacked off a corpse.
"I wouldn't want anyone to use the bodies, to escape the ditch. No, use the bodies as an example, display them how you see fit," King Henry said, face lined with war and cruelty. They didn't see me there. I was supposed to be picking up arrows. I was. Shaking in fear as they so calmly discussed their grotesque crimes.
And now my son is with this man. In the woods, with weapons. This man who I have witnessed laughing as he held someone's dismembered limb. And my little boy is with him. Voluntarily. Catherine's little boy she loved our Jasper best so of course he'd be wild.
"He hardly ever cries. He's so sweet," Catherine said, cradling her baby to her chest. A few weeks old and already strong, big curious dark eyes that stared up at me like sizing up his own sire. She was weak though, tired. She had been carrying this one. Somehow we knew it would be our last. I didn't imagine though I'd so soon lose her.
"Glad you like him," I said, kissing her temple.
"Yeah I'm fond of him," she smiled, stroking the baby's cheek with one finger, "I just want him to have a good life."
"He will. They both will, I promise," I said. I didn't think that quiet promise would be easy to keep. But I had no idea it would be anywhere near this hard.
That child is stumbling around the woods. With weapons. With that butcher of a man and his sons. They'll cut him up and feed him to their dogs for sport. This is why we should just leave. I should have twisted their arms and dragged them off but I was trying to be a good father and understanding and I didn't want to force them to do things and now he's going to be dead. He's going to die. I already knew when he acted like he couldn't read or whatever to avoid being a priest, I knew I'd have to bury him but not so soon. It shouldn't be so soon. I tried, Cat. I tried and I failed you. I failed you I'm losing our boy. And he's going to die and I'm going to have to bury him I just know it I just know that crazy, sweet, sweet boy is going to get himself killed because he's a good man and good men die why won't he listen? Why can't he listen to me? No, he didn't and I didn't force him and now he'll die. I can't breath. I can't breath. The only way my life could go worse at this moment is if they just inform me of his death.
"The King is requesting to see you, my lord."
Or that could happen.
I had relatively low expectations for the great King Henry's son. His heir. He wasn't there when this boy was born. Never met him. No. I heard this child's first piercing cries and worse his lovely mother's sobs. How miserable she was, and ill, bearing this precious heir to the throne. A womb for a wife and he made her feel it every single bloody day. I loved making her feel beautiful. She deserved to know how lovely she was.
But not for him. Or this child. They wanted her as trophy. Just another war prize in a bloody legacy and the King is his father reborn. Another King Henry, this one a bit more soft spoken not quite as tall, but still imposing. Dangerously quiet. Lean and unsatisfied, like the world shall never be enough. None of his mother's spirit, none of her kindness, let alone beauty.
He's done me no ills, yet. That does not mean he shall not. But I can't get my boys free of him, they won't leave. And now I suppose there are others I could protect. This one's taken a french girl, eight years his junior as opposed to his father who was fourteen odd years older than his sweet mother. And my boys won't listen to me they think their brother the king holds no harm means them no ill. But these men have a hidden malice in their breed. Latent cruelty we'll never be free of.