The Fiddler (Hand in Hand Chronicles)

Chapter 2 - "Or rather the sun and not the moon"

My mother quits caring about me. And I'm hurt till I begin to wonder if I'm anything to be cared about at all. Then I remember of course I'm not. I'm safest a living skeleton. Nothing soft and human there. And therefore nothing there to love either. It's safest that way. If the love isn't there. It can't be taken away.
Our mother cares for our little brother. She visits us now like our father does. Like we're staff or pets. But she's not cruel about anything, even if she doesn't really care that I'm around. Thomas is our father's heir. I'm not the youngest anymore. So I'm not anything at all. It's painless which is a comfort.
Our father announces we're coming with him to meet our cousin. It doesn't really matter to us. Our father is always working. And our mother hardly sees us anyway. My routine is interrupted which irks me. I'll no longer have hours spent quietly playing chess. I can take my fiddle, though, so I will at least get to practice that. Thomas is pleased of course. A new board, and new pieces to play with.
Our uncle is king. For a very long time, because people don't talk to me, I thought everyone's uncle was king. Well all right Thomas told me it wasn't true but Thomas, he lies. So I didn't count it. It's not true. Now I'm old enough to know there's lots of kings but only one of England so that matters. And our cousin is crown prince. He's a few years younger than me, well two and a half. So he's still a bit little. We're being brought to play with him.
"Till he was born I was third in line to the throne. Now I'm fourth," Thomas explains to me.
"All right," I don't know why he thinks I wanted that information. If he's king I'm going to another continent. Right now he can do anything he likes. Kings make laws and do no wrong. And Thomas just doesn't need that sort of encouragement.  "That makes me fifth."
"Which means you'll never get it," he guarantees, "Fifth is far."
"One step farther than fourth," I remind him. I don't care. I don't want to be king.
"I'd have to die. And if I die, you are already dead," Thomas tells me. But not like a prediction and more like he clearly plans on getting around to killing me before he himself dies. And I have no doubt its true.
We're going to Langley, the palace where the little prince is growing up. He has no brothers. I envy him. Then I remember he's about to meet myself and Thomas and so I pity him.
Our servants make sure we're dressed up in our best and I'm on pins and needles waiting for Thomas to do something to make me look awful. He somehow resists the temptation.  That doesn't even do me any good though. I'm sweating and my stomach aches by the time we're lead out to be presented to the king, our father is with him, waiting. Thomas walks first, I'm behind trying to regulate my breathing and stop sweating. Almost through it now.
"My lord," Thomas and I both bow, I dare to glance up at the king. He's smiling at us, he's taller than our father even, a terrifying man. Surely he'll hate me?
"Henry's neck is just—that way, it seems. Surgeons can do nothing. He still holds a sword and wants to get into trouble with his brother," my father says.
"Course he does that's your boy," the king laughs.
"Quite it seems. Anyway the baby is healthy so that's a blessing," our father says. Because I'm spare it doesn't matter now that my little brother's born. But that's fine. I don't want to have to matter. "Thomas is terribly clever."
"Odd he looks like you," they both laugh.
We're left standing here quietly, being good. Thomas' face is stone. But he'll be angry they talked about me before him. I know him. I may not know anything else but I know him.
"Well, my boy adores company, the staff say he's been begging for days to know when his cousins are coming to play," the king says, dismissively, waving a hand, "Take them to see Lord Edward."
The nurses nod, one takes my hand. I'm grateful for it. I'm still sweating and my stomach aches terribly. This might be the worst part. Everyone likes Thomas best they'll probably go right to tormenting me together.
We're lead back to a fine nursery. Finer than ours, with several dogs lying about and thick warm rugs on the floors. There are twice the staff as well, and so many brightly colored toys, soft and wood alike. And in the center of one white fur rug kneels a little boy. My height, but stocky, with thick gold curls, and a soft sweet grin. He's dressed in soft blue velvet, and bounces to his feet when he sees us.
"My lord," Edmund and I both bow as we're introduced.
Lord Edward walks directly up and wraps his arms around us. I nearly jump, going stiff, fully prepared for the other shoe to drop.
"What are you doing?" Thomas asks.
"Giving you a hug! You're my cousins I'm so glad you're here to play!" Edward chirps, squeezing me surprisingly tightly. But he makes no move to knock me over or pinch me. I surely don't react well, standing there stiffly.
"There," he pats both of our heads, "I'm playing with my farm toys, you can come."
"What?" Thomas asks. He's sweating now.
"Okay," I'm conditioned to agreeing to do things it's less painful.
"Here, you be the farmer we're counting all these animals," he guides us over to some nicely carved wooden toys he's been playing with. "Thomas you be the farmer as you're eldest and Henry and I will gather all the sheep." He says this wrapping a very thick arm around my neck.
He whispers, "They said your neck is funny it feels fine."
"Thank you?" I say, choking.
"Lord Edward do let your cousin breath," a nurse says.
"I'm fine," I lie, choking a little. I'm older but much slimmer than the little prince.
"We're going to bring all the sheep back in. Then we tell them all goodnight," Edward says, so proud of this game, "And you have to play with me for a whole fortnight I've got so many good games planned."
He does have so many good games planned.
Thomas is in hell.
On one token I'm fearing the reprisal for this actual torture. However, dear god if it isn't hilarious. I must be sinful for enjoying my brother's torment. Then that's fine I'll gladly explain to the saints why it's so very funny. My brother's not been subjected to play with toys in years. I can see him plotting revenge at least twenty years in advance, as our cousin gleefully insists we play dress up.
I don't have free will. I didn't know that. But it's gone apparently. Now everybody knows that. Because, no matter what Lord Edward wants to do. I just agree and bear through it quietly. Thomas tries to suggest something else but our little cousin, who is even younger than I, has not only never heard a wish denied, but is infectiously happy. Constantly.  Every morning he greets us with a hug and wants to tell us all his plans for the day.
We have lessons to do which I think is a comfort to Thomas. I as usual do relatively poorly at them so as not to attract any undo attention. But Thomas can't take out his wrath on our cousin but he can on me. But there are lots of people around. He resorts to his usual back up tricks, which is telling people that I did something I clearly did not do, or breaking something and saying he saw me do it. These only have something like a solid 1/2 effective rate, as I have made it my mission not to appear that I do anything but sit places quietly and stare into space fully vacantly.
This has the unintended affect of endearing Edward to me. He comes and grips my hands with his chubby soft ones too, "I'm so glad you're struggling with Latin too!"
I'm not struggling with Latin.
"I feel so stupid sometimes," he sighs.
He is stupid.
"I'm very very glad you're both here for a visit," he pats my hair like I'm a dog, "Will you come back and play with me? Thomas seemed sad today."
"Thomas is fine," Thomas is in a special sort of hell. He has to be nice. To us both. All day.
"How do you cheer him up?" He frowns.
"By leaving him alone," I say. I want to suggest asking him to play dress up. But I don't want Thomas to start in on Edward. He's just stupid. And he's little. Thomas has me he can leave Edward out of it.
"Oh. Right. My father likes to be alone I think," he nods. I think his father's working and doesn't want to mind a five year old. "Why don't you and I play after our lessons are done? If I ask Big Rob will take us down to the river. Do you want to go swimming with me? I love swimming."
"No—," please, "I don't—fancy swimming today." Please. Please. I can feel the muscles in my neck and back tighten. And water filling my mouth. I'm going to drown.
"Shall we go visit my pets then?" He asks, hopefully.
"Yes," I say, barely able to take a breath to say it. Thank god. He means it? It's not a trick? It's a trick. It's a trick.
I'm sweating all day. I can't even focus on my work at all. And when the time comes Thomas gets whisked off to go do swordplay. And Edward's staff take he and I out to the yard. My stomach is in knots. We're going down to the river aren't we? He's twice my weight he'll drown me easily. No please. Please no.
"I have a camel. It's very nice we can feed it," Edward bounces.
I nod.
"Is that a yes? I'm sorry it's a bit hard to tell," Edward frowns, "Are you okay? Don't be upset about getting those sums wrong everyone does. I do all the time."
"I'm yes—," I say, blushing because of course my head is tipped to one side so it's hard to tell when I just nod or the like. "That was a yes, sorry."
"Don't be! I just want to tell properly. I got told not to ask you but I really want to know and you're always nice to me—how come your head does point that way? Is that something that happens? Everyone told me not to ask like it's not and I'd not have thought to ask otherwise," Edward says, taking my hand in his soft chubby one.
"It's —not really common I don't think. It was hard for me to be born, that's what my mother said, why. They thought I might not live I still may not," I say.
"It was hard for me to be born. That's why my mother died I think," he frowns, sadly, "I know my father misses her. Does it hurt?"
"No," I lie. Never admit what hurts you.
"Good then! I'll just learn to know when you're nodding," he says, holding hands with me, "Come on, I can't wait for you to meet my camel."
He's going to push me in the river and drown me.
I nearly black out with fear and only come to and start breathing again normally when we actually meet what is apparently a camel. I didn't know what that's what one looked like in person. I'd seen pictures in books but those don't usually represented people very well so I wasn't counting on a camel being mostly accurate.
"See?!? You can feed him too," Edward says, grinning broadly, holding out a handful of hay as the big, rather ugly creature dips its head towards us. I back away fully expecting it to bite.
"Isn't he beautiful?" Edward asks, staring at the ugly thing with delight.
"Yes," I say, taking the straw slowly, fully expecting to lose a hand. The camel, however, delicately tugs the straw from my fingers as I wince.
"Oh he never bites!" Edward says, actually bouncing as he says it, "Never ever!"
Two days later, on the greatest day of my life, Thomas is bitten by a camel.
He's not even trying to feed it; it just decides to taste his shoulder and it does. He doesn't even scream he just goes red with rage and punches the camel in the face. Edward cries, I am somehow blamed, none of that's important. I don't even know why I get some small pleasure from it but I do. The camel isn't punished again I am and I don't even try to find out why.
"I suppose you think that's very funny?" Thomas asks, mopping his blood from the wound and forcing his fingers into my mouth that night, as he pins me to my bed.
"I don't recall laughing," I say, "Like generally—not that I did this afternoon."
The next day I get lashed I don't actually know what for. It's a 'you know what you did' situation. And then later on Edward is saying he didn't blame me? So I don't know ever what I'm supposed to have done but it doesn't matter because Thomas was bitten by a camel!!!
Soon it's time to leave Langley. Our father isn't back to collect us but we're to go home. Edward weeps at our parting and hugs us each tenderly.
"I can't wait till you come and visit again!" He says, sort of shaking me.
"Nor can I," I say, but it really doesn't matter to me.
Everything is the same. It has to be it all hurts less that way. We go home and our mother doesn't seem to care at all. She looks after our little brother. Our father works. Thomas has more and more lessons. I trail along. I resist nothing. I'm quiet. I don't draw attention. I don't ask for anything, let alone their affection. If I don't ask I can't be hurt. And it's too painful to want things. So I content myself with my own world. By now in my head I can imagine notes I could play on the fiddle, or the organ, or the harp. And sixty four squares, red and black, are my greatest comfort. I can now plan all of it without an instrument or a board before me, though it's sweeter to have one or both.
I find I'm not poor at sword play. My usual stratagem, wait for the opponent to attack, then dodge if possible, if not bear the wounds with honor and pretend it didn't hurt? That works quite well with weapons. And soon I'm old enough to learn properly.
"Do you want to practice with your brother? Your tutors say you've done well," my mother asks.
"I care not," I say, staring forward.
"I'll put you with him then," she says, not even looking at me.
I'm not allowed to care.
Thomas does his best to beat me. He does. He's taller. And his head actually moves without moving his body. I learn to adjust. It's playing with a couple of pieces missing but I still can win.
I don't though.
I'm not about to beat him. No, I do as I always do in my lessons. I make mistakes. Fall flat on my face. Just enough to look like I'm trying. Now and then tears of frustration are enough to satisfy him.
I'm crushing everything I've ever felt deep into my soul. Nothing can matter. Everything is a performance or else I'll be punished. And I'm an excellent performer.
"Henry tries very hard to keep up in his lessons. He always applies himself," they tell my parents, "Thomas excels of course. He's quite brilliant with languages and mathematics."
But not strategy eh Thomas? Not strategy, the silent, secret pastime that I know so very well.
Sometimes we're taken back to visit our cousin, Lord Edward. Sometimes for weeks, or months at a time. I always panic at the loss of my daily routine, and how it affords Thomas his own new methods to torment me. He has friends now, pages his age, but I'm a good fall back if he's got nothing to torture.
And Lord Edward remains terribly sweet. He's younger than I, and lacking siblings seems quite naive. He delights in showing me his pets, and I always say yes. He doesn't like sword play which delights Thomas to no end. I find myself taking ridicule and even subtly distracting my brother to save Edward from his crueler side. He's only a boy.
I don't know if Edward notices or not. But he becomes a bit more fond of my company than Thomas'. I act like it's natural, due to our closer ages, if anyone asks why just I am summoned to come and play with the prince.
One afternoon I'm interrupted from my music lesson. For some reason Thomas is here so I can't practice a new piece I came up with and have to do particularly poorly to appease his ill humor. He's in the middle of snarling that my playing is giving him a headache (ideal), when attendants come.
"Lord Edward requests Master Henry," they say, simply.
"I promised him I'd help him with maths," I lie, automatically.
"Better you than me," Thomas scoffs.
The attendants say nothing, they know fully well the reason they summoned me. And it's not exercises. Not it's not.
Edward is weeping miserably, the stocky boy just collapsed on the floor petting one of his dogs.
"What—am I—doing here?" I ask.
"You're to speak with your cousin," one of the nurses pushes me forward.
"Ah—Edward? What's wrong?" I ask, coming over.
"Big Rob says that Rabbit can't walk anymore," Edward sniffles. He's petting a dog. That's clear.
"The dog's legs give out on the steps, he's in pain," Big Rob, one of Edward's loyal attendants, says, kneeling behind the distraught young prince.
"I see," when dogs get old or can't walk anymore we break their necks. "Edward. You have to let him go."
Edward stares at me, blue eyes overflowing with tears, "I don't want to."
I noticed. "I know. But he's in pain. It's over now. There's no way to get him walking again. And that's no life to live is it? In cage. Not able to run in the fields as he wants, and be happy?" I ask, gently, "Imagine, if you couldn't move at all, or do anything, you felt trapped all the time. Like there's a rock, forever, on your chest and in your heart?"
"I don't want him to go," Edward says, hugging the dog, tears running down his face.
"Everyone, all of us have our time. I could die any day we don't really know yet," I say, "But it's kinder. You can't choose to give him his legs back. If you could we would. But you can't. So it's live in pain. Or be free."
Edward weeps quietly.
"Say goodbye," I say.
"Will you mourn him with me?" Edward sniffles.
"Yes," I say, unaware that that means having a funeral for the dog.
The staff is aware of that, and once the dog is put out of his pain we not only go and bury it, but I wind up playing my fiddle for said funeral. Edward prays, chubby little hands clasped, face still blotchy and red with tears. Thomas is about a hundred yards away, laughing harder than I've ever seen someone laugh. I play the fiddle well he's laughing too hard to notice. Edward thinks he's crying. I know this for a fact.
"What's your brother doing?"
"Crying," I lie, playing the fiddle as I stare at the sunset.
Edward weeps a bit more. His staff is tolerant of this. No one tells him to stop. Nor does he have any fear of the tears. Or emotion. He lets us all know how he likes his dogs. Likes. He loves things. In fact he loves everything. It is entirely alien to me. I don't even love myself.
"Thank you for coming," Edward says, giving me a ninth hug, putting his messy tear stained face into my second best tunic which is fine.
"Of course," I say.
"You don't even like dogs," he says, petting my hair for some reason.
"But you do," I say, quietly, "I—," I don't know how to like you. "I think I'm a poor cousin. But this is my best I promise."
"You're excellent. You're really excellent," Edward sighs.
I hug him back, awkwardly. This is going to have repercussions I know it.
They come when I've finally passed out into a fitful sleep, stomach aching from worrying.
Thomas' fist knotted in my hair, dragging me from my bed. This was inevitable wasn't it?
"You think you're the princes' favorite? You think you're so clever? Remember who keeps you alive," he says, and then he plunges my face into a full chamber pot. I'm drowning, in urine and feces.  I'm vomiting into the stench, and twisting, as I inhale the foul stuff.
I don't know when he drops me but I awake, vomiting on the floor, lying in the spilled piss and shit, stinking so much I can do nothing but gag and sob.
That was a loss for me, I think. I can hear his breathing. The night's not done. He's not even finished. He's sitting on my bed, watching me suffer, a smile on his lips.
I sob on my knees, shaking, "I wish you'd kill me. Just fucking kill me."
"I know you do," Thomas says, "That's why I don't."