Dowager (Hand in Hand Chronicles)

Part 3 - the dowager queen

All of england is preparing for war. Hal's precious war with france, he thinks of little else. Iv'e known enough men not to be concerned, they have to be cruel towards something. I simply warn my sons in Brittany to stay well out of it, and not to dare side against Hal. All but Arthur coolly reply that they'll take my word not to cross their step brother, they've seen enough of his correspondence to be wary.
The war means relatively little for me. I'm fulfilling the duties Hal asks of me, mostly the ones I already did. I don't mind, I enjoy the administration nearly as much as he does, and I can dine with the odd nobles who need attention which gives him extra time. He has no wife to do such things and very clearly doesn't want one. Thomas' wife Margret has the ltitle ones so she's busy with her own household. And Beaufort does anything Hal needs doing mostly on the financial side, though he and Courtenay, both Bishops, have to act the part on occasion.
I'm quite content with our routine. I stay mostly at Windsor now though Hal doesn't actually ask that I stay anywhere, merely that I hold the offices. I like to be about though in case any of my stepsons need anything. At the moment that's mostly being polite to nobles in their stead but I'll take it.
By the time Christmas is coming of 1413 we're all exhausted, it's nothing but readying for war and Hal's mental games of chess with most of Europe to achieve it. Not normally bent for any merriment, Hal refuses to do something expensive like open Kenilworth, and he's as usual loath to leave Westminster. As usual his more charming half is the reason he actually leaves.
"It's your first Christmas you don't need to throw a joust but they also can't say you're sick, your head troubles you, or you're too much the churchman to raise an army stop living at a church," Courtenay says, arms folded.
Hal glares at him. It's a few weeks to advent. "I'm busy," he snarls.
"Be busy in another house then. Go stay with Thomas. Hell go to Kenilworth we'll check on the Pleasance and invite no one say you're hunting but give me something to say," Courtenay begs.
Hal curls a lip but says nothing. He hates being overruled but he also knows full well when his friend is right.
"You can say I'm ill and you're staying here with me," I offer, to break the tension. I came down to see them expecting the boys to gravitate here and Hal not to leave.
"You can bloody stay with me, we'll do this," Beaufort barley looks up from his books.
"No, because that's the only other place we go and you're already a favorite," Courtenay says, dryly, "which is why no we aren't going to Powderham where no one would bother us."
"Eltham so we can bring my books from here, and we dine in private because I'm contemplating my role as king," Hal says.
Courtenay looks tired but doesn't argue it. It's a concession he's lucky to get that.
"I'll come so we're seeing family, and Thomas can bring his family," I point out.
Hal ignores us, still incensed at leaving Westminster. Beaufort shrugs at me a little. It's the best we can do, Courtenay was right, and he's the only reason Hal bent. Courtenay's family estate is Powderham, not that he's ever there. He and Hal went once or maybe twice, it's far, and Courtenay can hardly look a favorite he's here enough as it is. Favorites mean weakness, the rest of Parliament hates it. Thus far the priest is below thier notice due to being of the church and a mad liar, easily confusing his whereabouts and his devotions.
We decide to spend Christmas at Eltham, all of us. Hal's brothers readily come, John from his post in Scotland. There's no actual tournament planned but Beaufort hires minstrels and Courtenay tells plenty of people there will be quiet feasting in memory of the late king. It's a thin lie but it seems to do the trick as I don't hear any whispers of concern.
"One public joust would help. Even against his brothers he's bloody good at it," Courtenay mutters, ever concerned with gossip. "I insist he's a fearsome warrior but wales was over a decade ago now."
"I take it he refused," I say.
Courtenay rolls his pretty blue eyes.
"Is that why he's not speaking to you?"
"I think it could be other reasons," he says, lightly, "He'll need me to do something soon and everyone else will be too busy to pass messages."
I don'T know when the two make up but the next time I see Hal he has his hand casually tapping the priest's back as poor Courtenay tries to work at a desk. All of us are content to be Eltham for Christmas. It's a small enough palace with fine grounds, and John tries to cajole his brothers who aren't Hal to go hunting with him. Hal brings every single mastiff and there will be decent food in. I have to move from Windsor and bring my dogs, Hal generously sends me Porter to help do this. I like Porter he's a good sort, clever and entirely dependable. I keep him half in my employ but see little of him as a rule.
"Stop my step sons from getting drunk and jousting each other," I request.
Porter grins, "My lady I will—definitely be involved—if that occurs. That I promise you."
"You're very useless aren't you?"
He nods, so proud.
Of coruse only close family is at eltham, but it's enough of a ruse that it satisfies curious minds as to what the young king is doing. I do hear one rumor that he's dedicating himself to chastity and therefore removing all temptation as he wishes to be pure as Christ. That's very specific so I blame Courtenay for that one.
And so we're all having a pleasant end of Advent. It will be the first new year since Henry died, and I find myself oddly at ease. No anger. No fueds. The boys are laughing and happy they actually get Hal smiling. Courtenay is fluidly at Hal's side, there's little pretense as to why he's there. Thomas brings his entire family and the children are playing happily with Beaufort's daughter. He's planning to kidnap the girl's mother and bring her as well in a few days time.
With no relationships to mediate, no Henry's ego to sooth, I feel strangle out of place. My time is spent doing as I wish, we can be happy without fear of consequence. It's the most bizziarely freeing thing I've ever felt. I feel as though I don't deserve to enjoy it. But I force myself to.
The second to last evening of Advent Hal permits us all to drink with him after supper, he's drinking good wine that he's decided to share with his brothers whcih sounds like we would all be talking. But he clearly plans to read, it looks like accounts. He's half sprawled on cushions, one leg over Courtenay trapping him in place and half using the other man as a cushion as a matter of form. A mastiff completes the task of pinning the poor priest down. Humphrey still attempts to chat anyway. Beaufort and I are drinking and John is lying on the floor petting one of the mastiff puppies which is intent on licking his face. Thomas is sitting with his son and Beaufort's daughter. They were playing cards but the children have fallen asleep. Thomas is now trying to figure out which one was cheating by going back through the deck.
"I heard in Oxford that you took a vow of chastity," Humprhey asys, kicking Hal's leg.
Hal says nothing, merely reaching up and hitting Courtenay, rather hard, in the arm.
"You don't know it was me," Courtenay mutters.
"I do actually. Third time we heard that?" Hal asks.
"Fourth, he gets about," Beaufort says, dryly.
"Oh really that is—different," I wince, "Maybe stop doing that."
"It's less that you say it but more one of these days someone is going to wonder why in god's name YOU know that," John points out.
"You all make it sound so terrible but consider. For one thing I need to explain why the king lives at Westminster and what he does with his time there because it can't be plotting war like its. And most importantly, I find it very. Very. Very funny," Courtenay says, coolly, which earns him another smack. This time Hal hits his face.
"I never heard that," Thomas says, looking up.
"Do you talk to people?" John asks.
"No," Thomas shakes his head.
"well okay then," John flops back down, tugging on the dog's bone, "This is good wine went straight to my head."
"well you're not going to ever have it again," Hal says, "Chaucer only got one barrel."
"We all know you have three," Beaufort says.
Hal is fully prepared to justify why he is not sharing his precious wine, but he's interrupted by the entrance of his manservant, Green. A distinctively loyal if quiet man, he's been with Hal as long as I've known him so well over ten years, and he's trusted enough to keep secrets like who goes back to the king's bedroom.
"My lord there is a message, I thought you would wish it now," green says, holding a piece of paper.
Hal waves him over, taking the message with two fingers.
I frown and so does Beaufort. It's odd that Green would bother to trouble the king now. He wouldn't unless it were important.
"It's from Oldcastle," Hal says, opening. Courtenay leans to read it as well.
"He's sending wrestlers for the twelfth night mask," Courtenay reads aloud.
Hal stares at the air like he's doing complicated equations in his head.
"Well you did save his life," Thomas says. Oldcastle was Hal's knight, but a Lollard. Hal naturally as much as let him off, he allowed him to escape London so as not to be burned as hermitic. He was a good man and a kind mentor so Hal's mercy follows.
"Wrestlers?" Beaufort voices what I was thinking. Naked wrestlers is an interesting if not unusual form of entertainment, but it's not unheard of. That said our Hal isn't known for much merriment and while it might be a bit of gratitude or a previously arranged engagement, at the moment Oldcastle is decidedly wanted.
"What?" Humphrey asks, realizing that something is a miss.
"he's trying to kill me. We're leaving. Immediately," Hal climbs to his feet, rather quickly but sacrificing the priest in his haste to stand, mostly pushing the other man back down. Courtenay doesn't seem surprised at this, using one of the giant dogs to catch himself.
"what?" I ask.
"No—what—Hal how would he even do that we're locked up here and you have fifty evil dogs around you at all times," Humphrey asys. Besides that Hal is usually wearing a dagger. Being nearly murdered as a boy wasn't an experience he forgot and he's typically armed. Between that and his plethora of healthy young knights, and the added abundance of war dogs, any would be attacker would have both the worst and last day of their life trying to approach the king.
"I said we're leaving. Right now, we all must leave they clearly plan to murder all of us at the mummer's feast," Hal says, crisply, taking the note from Courtenay who was still reading it, "Green have them ready our horses, and prepare the household to rejoin me at Westminster."
"No, no, no Hal, you promised, one quiet Christmas, don't do this," Thomas says, standing up and picking up his sleeping son. Beaufort has already quietly gone to his sleeping daughter.
"You're blaming me, me?" Hal asks, hand delicately to his chest, so obviously completely calm, "I'm shocked and horrified and you blame me? It's not my fault the man is mad and wishes to kill me."
"No but you know—everything —as you always tell us. So that means I can blame you. For everything. Right let me know how it goes I don't want to be involved when you catch and burn anyone, general statement," Thomas says, holding his little boy in his arms and trying to make his way to the door.
"Oh no you don't, you're coming with us. All of our lives are threatened we rally our armies together," Hal says, simply lifting Johnny from Thomas's arms. The height difference of the brothers is sufficient that this is relatively easy for Hal to accomplish while Thomas merely glares.
"No, no I don'T want to be involved what about him no—,"
"What's going on?" johnny mumbles, half waking up as his uncle holds him aloft out of Thomas' general reach. The little boy barely opens his eyes.
"You're being kidnapped, your father will complete the demands and rescue you shortly, Porter—there take that," Hal places Johnny into the waiting esquire's arms. Porter smirks, snatching the boy up with ease as Thomas glowers at him.
"Porter, escort Lady Joan and my uncle to his lodging in London, then meet me at Westminster," Hal says.
"I'm comfortable staying here," I say.
"You're going, pleasant holiday," Courtenay purrs, the deceitful man is smothering a smile at the brother's quiet rowing.
"We're mustering an army? Against whom may I ask," John asks, completely calmly.
"Rebel Lollards clearly," Hal says, "now go, ride tonight your households will follow. Uncle I'll send word for now summon my privy council and inform them of the threat to my life."
"Privy council the king's life has been threatened," Beaufort says, immediately, smacking the back of Courtenay's head. He'd probably do it harder, but he only has one hand free his daughter is balanced in his other arm.
"Yes you're very funny I'm pleased you take the king's life and safety in such stride,"" Courtenay predictably begins to monologue. He and Beaufort are of course members of the privy council. I think his official position is Keeper of the King's purse, though that hardly covers the myriad of jobs he scurries about doing, up to and including spying.
"The king is smiling," Humphrey mutters.
Hal is clearly unconcerned but he would be. He's a solider going to soldier's business. He's dealt with revolutions all his life this is hardly anything new. And while there's limited evidence of a plot I spent a moment contemplating that he likely has good cause for concern. I saw first hand the many revolts Henry faced, discontented nobles to Scottish rebels, the life of a usurper king isn't easy. Some of it was bound to pass down to Hal.  But I know I'm reaching for reasons. Courtenay's look of smug satisfaction, the same as when he and Hal play chess. Clear unbridled amusement. That's telling when I know he cares more for Hal's life than his own.
Beaufort voices my concern the moment we clear the palace. Porter is following us carrying Johnny, Beaufort has his daughter. I have nothing but the cloak the staff hurry to give me. We're leaving right now.
"Bit odd wasn't that," Beaufort mutters.
"He knows Oldcastle better than we do—and they spoke before his arrest. Perhaps he threatened something like this in their last meeting?" I point out. I want to give Hal the benefit of the doubt. I don't know why. Yes I do. I always try to forgive men, especially men like him.  Like I always forgave his father.
"Yes, yes rather quick to come to that conclusion wasn't it? And why didn't I get to read the note? And why was the one who can tell lies, the one who read it aloud?" Beaufort hisses.
"Hal can lie," I say, "All men can lie."
"Yes of course he can, he can lie about whether or not he has wine I'd like, or that he revered his father, or anything he sees a cause to. It doesn't occur to him to lie about things he doesn't think are wrong, he stumbles at it or forgets entirely and just says in polite conversation how pleasant it is to watch men burn alive," Beaufort says, hugging his daughter a bit tighter in the cold wind.
"So you don't think it's a threat?" I ask. I admit the situation was more than odd.
"I'm saying what's more likely. Oldcastle who has known Hal since he was a boy, who has been a Lollard for years we all bloody knew. Hell Wycliffe was my tutor as a boy do you see me caring? No. Oldcastle who knows this, myself and Hal personally, after Hal has so kindly met with him and given him ample chance to escape as hes an old man and a personal friend. After all this do you believe Oldcastle decided to spend the rest of his very short life, raising a clearly tiny army, in the hopes of stabbing four grown men who have seen battle and murdering a man whose life he once helped to save? With—no provocation considering he was so very nicely allowed to escape," Beaufort says, voice thick with poison, "Or. or. Here's another scenario. a young king is terribly bored and longs for battle but his very practical best mate informed him it was two years at best before they had enough arrows so as a treat. To himself. And to remind the realm he's more the soldier than the scholar. There is suddenly, a little, tiny rebellion, which this king miraculously knows about. And the perpetrator—none other than a criminal who so conveniently escaped to do this. Just in time for Christmas."
"And we all have to go back to Westminster and he gets to go put on his armor," I finish.
"Hm yes interesting that," Beaufort says.
"He wouldn't frame Oldcastle, they were friends," i say. He liked the old knight I know he'd ask for him to be brought to feasts and such along with his pretty young friends.
"Oh I'm not saying he would. But I wouldn't put odds on what Courtenay would do for the sake of his king's entertainment and image. It's all rather good publicity which he's forever managing, and as a nice New Years present his king gets to ride into battle is that or is that not in character?" Beaufort asks.
"Entirely," I admit. Earlier today I saw them standing alone. It's eltham and few were watching, Courteany coming from the library as ever. Hal simply caught his sleeve.
"I haven't murdered you in your bed yet. Happy New year," Hal said, dark eyes trained on the priest's pretty face.
"You get your New Year's present tonight," Courtenay smirked, near whispered. Then he walked on.
The conversation wasn't meant for me I was sitting on a bench with my dogs, and I doubt they saw me. And I felt a bit bad. They'd been relatively careless around me since I'd caught them tripping about in their youth, so clearly fresh from the other's arms, faces flushed. I have always turned a blind eye to it, whatever sins they commit are their own and if anything I've alwasy been glad that Hal, in his own oddity, has companion who so cares for him. So I'd discounted it.  But now of course the obvious more sexual answer is less likely than the devious priest simply arranging a rebellion for Hal to fight. Unfortunately for both of them that would have them smiling like that. Damn those boys.
"Yes I thought so," Beaufort hisses.
"Well Porter knows,"I say, gesturing behind us.
"Porter usually knows things, your ladyship," Porter says, obsequiously, still holding a sleeping Johnny.
"William Bloody Porter, you'll answer the dowager queen," Beaufort says.
"It's not really my concern anyway the priest doesn't trust me yet he's a bit like a stray dog. If he'd done something I wouldn't know. And the king's had me taking messages yes I was there when he and Oldcastle parted, Oldcastle was the one weeping pretty sure our Courtenay tells it the other way around," Porter says.
"So that means I'm right," Beaufort says.
"What are you going to do?" I ask.
"Oh nothing it's all conjecture. I'm not cross at the game. I'm cross I wasn't involved. Those two are a volitle mix and I'm not pleased when they make decisions fully on their own. The idea of this reign is we all become very rich men and that shan't happen if the enabling one aids the impulsive one who blows up cannons to get himself killed. We don't take risks," Beaufort growls.
"Ha that was a lark," Porter says.
"William wev'e talked about this. Don't help the king blow up cannons," I say, flatly.
"Look way things are going I'll probably never have a child of me own or live past thirty. Let me help the king pour too much powder into a cannon to see how far the stone goes?"Porter simpers.
I shake my head.
"The mystery thickens as to why he keeps you on Porter, you're not getting to france if he starts a small holy war out of boredom," Beaufort snarls, then, in the softest voice I've ever heard out of him let alone any of the Lancasters, "Jane, precious, papa needs you to wake up we're going home now."
"why?" The little girl blinks her eyes lazily, struggling to wake.
"A special reason I'm sure your cousin will not explain later, now come along," Beaufort says, kissing her forehand, still in the nicest voice I've ever heard.
"I've never heard him talk that soft before,"Porter says.
"I've never heard him be nice to someone before," I say.
"Fuck you both," Beaufort whispers, before kissing his daughter's hair and setting her up on his horse.
"why are you so cross for your life is being saved," Porter says.
"One—we have one Courteany shut the hell up Will. Two—I do not like being not included in things. I really don't care what anyone in this blessed family does I just need to be included. Three—I have my daughter with me that's a different level," Beaufort snarls.
I don't blame him for that. His illegitmate daughter is a precious secret and it's low even for Hal, to make him ride out in the night with her. He'd be put out of the church if it were known the girl was his and Hal might not be able to stop it. And besides that even if Hal protected him the little girl's reputation would forever be that of a bastard of a churchman. Now if anyone asks she's an urchin he took in to be kind. That story grows thin when the girl so clearly looks like him and is perfectly content cuddled in his arms.
Beaufort fumes the rest of the way to his residence, which is opened up, but not fully staffed. Our staff are coming from eltham behind us. I don't care but Beaufort is generally cross. Jane and Johnny are put back to bed and the illegitmate cousins obey without complaint. Both bastards. Both something of a secret from the public. I feel bad for a moment. The children are all too used to being packed about and shuffled out of harms way. My own boys would have been bouncing and arguing away at such a relocation. These two Lancaster bastards take it nearly as a matter of form. Jane merely asks if her royal cousins are well to which Beaufort thinly informs her they are having fun. Johnny is quiet, clearly content to wait for his father to return with no further questions. They play quietly together or with their dogs. I was used to seeing Beaufort with his daughter at feasts, where he'd sit with her of coruse and chat to her. At home it's clear they operate together in an unusually smooth rhythm, father and daughter can communicate with a nod of their head, she curls up content under his arm or with a book, makes herself scarce then comes about quiet as a cat. The life of a secret child. I wonder if her father's love makes up for such a ghostly existence. Johnny is much the same, he used to go and play iwth his step siblings, but now he's clearly reverted to to the life of a phantom, merely waiting proper minders or hopefully a parent, and till then taking up as little space as possible.
within a couple of days our staff arrive, and with that other members of the Privy council.  All of them, clearly Beaufort picked and chose. Warwick and Scrope as their known. More pretty young noble friends of Hal's. I've known both men since I came.
Warwick is a good sort. Of noble family, he's about five years Hal's senior and an accomplished knight. I've spoken to him at some feasts. Married with a daughter now, one child a girl, and doesn't seem to care. I mostly like him beause he's nice to Courtenay, something rarer from the knights but he'll treat the priest like one of them, and always has.
Scrope, another Harry so they call him Scrope, a bit less so. He's about a decade older than Hal, which is significant. And while he's one of a number of terribly beautiful people Hal is friends with, rumors got out of him spending the night in Hal's room. Hal as ever did little to hide the rumors but even Courtenay didn't surpress them. And they were true it was when Hal was at Westminster I lived there as well.  I wouldn't especially care about the rumors, but Hal never really seemed to care for anyone but Courtenay's special company, his old school mate and longtime friend that was natural. Scrope, a grown man at the time, seemed an odd choice which made it seem like less of a choice. A sixteen year old who drinks himself into incoherence every night, prince or no, can't possibly have had a terribly good command of the word 'no' to an adult man who I've never seen anything but sober. Yet Hal keeps the man around so perhaps I'm a bit protective.
"There are rebels," Warwick says, by way of greeting. He's half in armor, clearly ridden hard to make it, also rather calm, "Lollard ones. No I don't know who raised them. No oldcastle hasn't been caught. Yes the king and his brothers are well in thier persons."
"We agree that at best the king has known for months?" Beaufort asks.
"Yes," Warwick smiles.
"Oldcastle claimed the pope is the anti christ, the man is mad," Scrope says, moving to sit down, "Why is this a discussion?"
"Who'd you hear from that he said that?" Beaufort sighs.
"Well thats what the jailors said at the Tower—,"
"Yeah who goes and talks and bats his blue eyes at the jailors in the Tower every other week end?" Beaufort asks.
"Oh god," Scrope says, color draining from his face.
"The rumors could be embellished, even so it stopped the uprising," I point out, "The Lollards were there."
"what moritorium did I put on people doing Courtenay's job for him?" Beaufort sighs.
"Bit of fun. Bit more notice would be nice," Warwick says.
"Thank you. That's my point, next time we meet we impress upon the king no surprises," Beaufort says.
"Yeah I definitely need to be included so I'm going to impress it on Courtenay as well, but I can't do it someone else has to because he knows I'm the weak link and he'll get away with it and there's no way in hell HE he didn't know he probably pretends to be a Lollard and goes to meetings every Wednesday," Warwick says.
"He likely hosts the meetings," Beaufort snarls.
"We're the privy council if there's an uprising we have to know," Scrope says, "The king must not have had word. I can't imagine him not telling me sooner. He's fond of his—well he'd kill the Lollards certainly."
"Oh yes," I say. He's fond of burning heritcs we all found that out the poor way. He enjoyed it far too much. 
"Courtenay likely knows, I'll ask him," I say.
'You, don'T speak to him no," Scrope says.
"He's on our privy council you have to speak to him as well, he's just a man, who never stops talking, who has eyes prettier than the sky," Warwick says, affectionately.
We all look at him.
"Oh go on you know he does," Warwick says.
"Advance notice. Really all I ask gentlemen. Between us one of us can get that through to the king," Beaufort says.
Soon the few rebels are arrested and it's conviently past the holidays and nobody even mentions how the king didn't have a joust or anything he had real rebels to fight. I really can't say Hal is beating the allegations. Nor is Courtenay.
I'm not about to bring it up to Hal. It would do no good he'd neatly deny it. He tries, in his own way, to be good for me. Some affection for his poor mother I suppose that's quietly transferred to me. He doesn't like to admit anything he thinks I might disapprove of he'll talk of war yes but skip things about killing. He wouldn't admit this.
Courtenay, who I blame more heavily, might. I have a decent rapport with him, becuase I keep his secrets. I'm the one who told the staff to remain quiet about the number of times he's left Hal's room in the small hours of the morning, or never left at all. I'm the one who put his room near Hal's when they came to stay with his father. I'm the one who makes sure there's always candles in his room so he can take them when he finally goes home or back to Oxford. He knows all that, even if he's as trusting a stray cat.
I summon him to see me one day. We're all back up after the holidays, he went with Hal to Kenilworth to plot war after they got done with the rebellions, no we're all back in London. I'm at Westminster and he's perpetually busy for Hal but he's not about to ignore my summons so he comes, ready to charm as ever.
"Oldcastle," I say, by way of greeting.
"Is at large but that wasn't your question?" Courtenay smirks, too handsome smile. Hal picked well I must say. His intellectual match happened to be terribly easy on the eyes. Always the luck of the devil.
"You knew," I say.
"I know lots of things. I know some alternatives are better than others. I know who the king is fond of. And I know what makes him happy. I know he needs war to stay alive," Courtenay says, staring off.
"What do you mean alternative?" I ask. It's as much of a confession as I'll get. He likely orchestrated, but at the very least he was well aware of what was brewing.
"None of us need to find out. I''m a plaything remember. Just one of many occupations and right now I'm amusing. I like remaining so," he says.
"So you solicit wars from him," I say.
"Well," he smiles, "There aren't better ways to stay alive I shouldn't think? Service of my king."
"Go carefully there," I say, gently.
"Always," he says, "That's a promise your grace."
"I meant about calling yourself a plaything," I say, "You know he needs you more than that."
"No he doesn't. I'm a current amusement but lucky for me I do enjoy being interesting, one day I shall not be. But until then? I do have another meeting, if there was nothing else," he says.
"go," i know he'll meet Hal before parliament.  And there's no arguing with him. I hope it's for my benefit he pretends to think he means little to Hal beyond current entertainments. Perhaps he does. Within a few days I see a giant black mastiff puppy plodding after him, worn rope for a collar, sitting adoringly on the priest' heels. Clearly a fine animal from Hal's line of war dogs. This one has a large white patch on one ear and an inky black coat. Courtenay calls it Leek for reasons I'm sure to do with his and Hal's unending efforts to infuriate the other into courtship or whatever they believe they are doing by driving the other mad while being insanely busy. In all seriousness they both clearly find the odd public trick on the other funny.
Preparation for war consumes England, which means I do more and more to pacify nobles, meeting having supper pretending whatever my current directive is. It keeps me busy and I honestly don't mind the work. Everyone else including Beaufort are far busier.
Hal doesn't really alter my duties, but his own preparations to sail, he does deign to have a personal conversation.
"John will be my regeant. Help him as needed mostly what you usually do I don't expect he'll need it however, temper his youth things of that kind,"Hal says, as if he's not less than three years older than his brother.
"I shall of course. I'll stay in London," I say.
"That's all I ask really, I have full instructions written out, worst cases, mostly Thomas' family, his wife here alone, that manner of thing I'm sure you're well managing," he says, waving a hand to indicate human emotion something he doesn't expect to have to handle.  "And ah Hereford—my father you recall granted it to you?"
"Yes and I had Porter find someone to help me manage it," I say. Henry granted me a few properties, as is done, when we were married. Hereford is an old keep, mostly a fortress, up north in Lancaster. I've never been.
"Swap it to me for Langley," Hal says, voice a bit tight. I wonder why as it's really his decision. But of course he grew up in Hereford. That's sentiment there, it's where his mother died I think. Of course he'd want it.
"That would be fine, It's a good hunting retreat, i can open it for you next summer, if Tom wants to bring his family down, or you needed to use it to meet someone," I offer. It does make more sense. If any of them are sick or injured it might as well be open so they can come recover.
"As you will you hunt more than I," Hal says, smoothly, "The paperwork will be done I'm fixing—all of that actually. And while I'm away I'll leave you use a few as I might need them open, receiving prisoners the like or if you must entertain a foreign guest take them hunting. Windsor and Berkhampsted—somewhere else if I think of it. I'm leaving you full use and access to Hereford should have something there or staff up there."
"Thank you," I say. I never visited and I don't really care to. I see his mother's ghost enough here. I want her at peace. I can'T imagine how she would be though, when her boys are so bent on war.
That's our last meeting. Hal is intensely busy, and Courtenay is out of the country more than he's in, Beaufort as well. Spying mostly though sometimes they are meant to be gone. Porter as well, though the polite boy does see fit to come and tell me he shan't be about to do his usual odd jobs, though of coruse his spying is entirely a secret.
With the army mustering to sail, I write to my sons again, urging them to take no arms against Hal. Don't even dare. That last part is mostly to Arthur, who often doesn't return my letters.
To my surprise Hal does arrange a dinner with me before he leaves. He's busy day and night I know so I wasn't going to blame him if he did not. But he does, Thomas comes with him as does Humphrey. They are all going to war, John remains with me as regeant.  Courtenay and Beaufort are on business as usual so they do not plan to attend though in the end Courteany comes anyway. I am glad that at this point in his constancy in our lives Hal doesn't see fit to give an explanation why the priest is shadowing him. It's no longer a question, nor was it one I ever asked. I'm just glad he finally is taking the privilege that while the rest of the world may care I do not, no bravado or pretty excuses necessary. We talk business as pleases Hal who seems to have been persuaded from bring notes to supper.
"The invasion point still a secret?" I ask.
"We're probably going to France," Courtenay says, smirking.
"No one but I and I'll tell my captain when we sail," Hal says, definitely not counting Courtenay as a person.
"wait could I know?" Thomas asks, "like have you talked about it enough around me and I should know?"
Hal stares at him for a long moment, "Yes."
"But he told you," Humphrey points at Courtenay.
"No," Courtenay scoffs, "The king tells me nothing."
"He made you guess?" I ask.
"He made me guess. Got it in one," Courtenay says. He was likely scouting for it, I suspect Porter was as well. They're the next best thing to Hal having eyes on it himself.
"Well Brittany is neutral, I've ensured it," I say.
"It is what we keep you for," Hal says, dryly, though there's obvious humor in his eyes.
"And Portugual is on our side," Humphrey says.
"Should I really know this? Where we're going," Thomas asks.
"You'll know when we sail in a week like everyone else," Hal says.
The evening wears on. I enjoy watching the candlelight reflecting on their faces, and listening to their quiet, rapid arguments. About the war, though Hal can be distracted with talk of music, our shared interest in that and horses keeps the conversation easy most of the night. Humphrey is even in something like a good humor. Hal's hand drifts to the priest's neck, calloused fingers tapping out a melody onto the other man's skin. This is clearly involuntary, as is when he take his hand to move his fingers into a soft rhythm. Courtenay is more affected, clear heat in his face as he dares not move from the silent affection. He blushes so I wonder briefly if that's all the physical affirmation he receives. Hal leans on him anyway, and if his brothers note the gestures it's a familiar enough sight they ignore it. Hal for his part is too pleased with himself to bother to hide as he usually might. He's king, he's launching his invasion, he has everything he ever wanted.