Hand in Violent Hand

10 - Hocktide 1399

Hocktide

1399 - The most important event of the year for Middle Ages Catholics was Easter Sunday, the feast that ended 40 days and 40 nights of fasting. The day after Easter, is known as 'Hocktide' for much feasting and merriment after the long fast...
The Hundred Years' War is currently paused, due to English King Richard II's diplomacy. In 14 years will begin again in earnest, but for now there is peace in England and France. In the next twenty years young knights and squires will prove their worth and become heroes. For now many of the heroes of the next phase of the war are only boys...

Chapter 1 - Shrove Tuesday

Windsor Palace, Thomas of Lancaster

I wake to the smell of burning fabric. Not unusual but unwanted. Someday I'm going to completely burn up. Someone will set me on fire and I shall not realize because it will feel basically normal. The sun is just coming in the windows. Morning mass is a few hours. If things are already on fire I'm not going to get to sleep through it.
I roll over to the edge of the bed to look over at the hearth. I should make sure my brother is alive and not fallen into the flames like he so wants to.
"Hal what're you doing?" I mumble.
"I was going to be waking you. It's time for mass," he says, not taking his dark eyes off the flickering fire. He's edged his hand closer till the end of his sleeve catches light.
I sigh, rubbing my face with one hand.
"Did you go to sleep?" I ask.
"Not for long, I was reading," he replies, going back to staring at the fire, "You can go back to your own room. I want quiet."
I say nothing. We don't have to share a room anymore. But I have nightmares. And Hal's always been there he's not a year older than me. And when we were little our mother always had us in the same room. I'm used to it. And I don't care anymore who knows I'm lonely. I am sometimes and Hal doesn't use his bed anyway he doesn't sleep all that much.
He continues watching the flames lick up the fabric, before slowly putting it out with one hand. It's an old tunic so he doesn't care. He put it on just for this. This being staring transfixed at the flames. He always has ever since he was little. Our mother didn't like it, she asked me to watch him. Didn't want him burning himself. He's never burned himself.
"King Richard wouldn't care if you had a harp moved in to play," I say. It calms him. And in my opinion it's better than the fire. "If you ask they're not going to care."
"I can't be weak. Music is a fine vice, but I can't be seen to have any weaknesses, you lot are bad enough. If I were an only child I could possibly have a weakness but I have to like you all day long," he says, idly.
I sigh, head down on my arm. I knew it was too early. Hal's always been smarter than anyone ever born. But. Last fall he spent time around our grandfather and now he's so much worse. It's much worse. I don't know what he's planning but Jerusalem comes up in unrelated conversations.
"I'll say it's for me, say I like hearing you play. They're nice," I say, quietly.
"No one's nice," he says, still staring at the fire, "Now go and get ready for mass. Then we've got sparring."
"It's Shrove Tuesday," I say. Feasting will likely commence right after mass. It's the last celebration before Lent.
"Oh we've no time for such matters the day is much better spent in contemplative prayer and study. And anyway, we're squires we shan't be involved in the feast," Hal reasons.
We are definitely going to be involved. Like most definitely. There is no way we won't be involved. And I want to go it's a feast. It'll likely be fun. We missed Christmas and New Year at the palace we were staying with our grandparents. So this will likely be really really fun. And it's a whole month and a half or something till Easter the next big feast and party.
Should I break it to him we're definitely going? He definitely doesn't want to go that many people being happy and unproductive? He'd be ill. I should warn him.
"I—I think we are going," I say.
"You're ten. You're too young I should help you study. And I'm far too busy for such things I have lessons to catch up on," he says. He thinks he's behind in his lessons since he wasn't allowed to do them on exactly New Year day because our grandmother insisted he come and play with the cousins and visit. Our grandfather took pity on him partway through the evening and he disappeared to read but the point is he isn't even behind.
"I'm saying I think we're going," I say, "Like that wasn't implied it was stated directly."
"They don't want boys hanging about. And it's better for our image if we don't indulge in such frivolities," Hal says. He wants his image to be that of a middle aged clergyman or something. 
"I wonder where you find boring people? Mum wanted you to have friends," I say.
"I despise boring people." He has no idea how boring he is. All right I'm not going to tell him it's fine he can find out organically. Or just go on thinking he's better than everyone. He'll probably do the second thing.
"Can I go back to sleep and miss mass—? No, no figured it was a no," I say, sitting up, saying it when he glares at me.
"You cannot. Now get out of my room. My staff will be in a moment anyway," he says, still staring into the hearth.
I have to try. He's my brother.
"We could celebrate, you know. We're knights. Here at the palace, father's on the continent. Mum would be glad," I say. In a couple of years maybe our brothers and sisters will join us. And he's got money now his own income and he loves money.
"We are celebrating. I was going to read some epic poetry quietly and then go over my accounts, while you work on your penmanship," Hal says, genuinely confused why that does not sound like a good time.
"Not a Harry of Monmouth party," I say, "Isn't it part of your noble education to understand other's vices?"
"No. It makes them weak. And we shall have a fine day catching up on our studies," Hal says, primly, "Now stop trying to get out of work, it's not becoming."
He's probably looking forward to Lent.
"I can't wait for Lent to start."
I didn't need to be right.
"Mum would be proud of you," I say, quietly.
"You're only saying that because you want to go to some feast or other," he says, his face expressionless, as he keeps looking at the fire.
"No. Flattery doesn't work with you. And I said it cause I thought it. I think she'd be glad we're here," I say, quietly. She understood him. And she loved him anyway. People don't. And the most horrifying thing of all is, he knows it. He knows that no one will ever love what he really is. Which is this. In love with nothing but fire and the workings of his own too clever mind. No other earthly pleasures amuse him. He's always been my brother so I've always known. He hides it as best he can which is only so well. And our father doesn't like any of us very much least of all Hal. And our mother died three years ago now, and each passing day it gets harder and harder for any of us to believe she'd love us as we are now. The men we're slowly becoming. We're still her little boys and in our heads that's all we'll ever have. We don't get to grow up to be people she'd love. But in my heart I know it's true. Or perhaps I want it to be. That she'd come in and check the soot on his hands and kiss our faces like she always did.
"Of course," he says, stiffly, still looking into the flames, "Go on now. Get changed. You're going to be late for mass."
"Yes, Hal," I say, fulling getting up. His two mastiff puppies are curled up in the bed, black wrinkles that drool and smell. King Richard gave them to him, because Hal was always petting his dogs. A nice gift for a little cousin, but I suspect King Richard knew that our father didn't send Hal anything for New Year. He sent just me some thing and the girls lesson books. Nothing for my brothers. It made me sick.
"Go on. I'll meet you in the hall," Hal says, holding up his arm as flames lick down the sleeve.
I really need to get him a harp.