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4 Years Old
When Henry was four, plague swept through Skalitz.
“Nothing like the Great Pestilence,” the elder generation would assure them later, but it was of little comfort to Radzig. Not when it took Martin and Anna.
It happened so quickly, as plagues often did.
One day there was talk at the castle of the foreman’s family taking ill, the next night the captain of his guard was waking him to news that the blacksmith and his family were there demanding to see him.
Radzig had barely bothered dressing, ordering his captain to see them into his study and pulling on the hose and shirt he removed only a few hours previously. Martin, Anna and Henry were all in the study when he arrived. Anna was sat in his chair, brushing her thumb of Henry’s cheek as he sat in her lap, sucking his thumb in his sleep. Martin stood next to them with his back to the door one hand carding through Anna’s hair, the other soothing over Henry’s. It was such a perfect display of domesticity that Radzig thought he was interrupting by entering his own study.
He coughed gently as they didn’t seem to hear him enter.
Their faces fell, gentle smiles giving way to stony expressions, the severity of which stopped Radzig in his tracks.
“What’s happened?”
Anna closed her eyes holding Henry tighter and leaning down to place a kiss on his forehead. “It’s a plague, Radzig,” she whispered.
Radzig lurched forward, looking and searching their expressions for some kind of jest or ploy. Instead, the closer he got the further his heart sank into his chest until he was by their sides and could see the fear in their eyes as plain as day.
Plague. In Skalitz.
“What?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“A few days ago, Old Peter, the day shift Forman came down sick.” He nodded at Martin’s words, this he had heard from the castle gossip mill. “Then Zdena, the baker’s wife, fall sick.”
“She’s dead, Radzig. Not two days and she went from being completely healthy to dead,” Anna’s voice wavered.
“It’s since spread to her family, and this morning both Tomas, the tailor’s apprentice, and Havel down at the stables have fallen ill.”
“I have to help, Radzig.”
His heart skipped. He couldn’t breathe.
“No—You can’t—Anna.” The words wouldn’t come and he could do noting but keen her name. She couldn’t be meaning what he thought she was. Tending to the sick when it’s a cold was one thing, but a plague?! She had to know how dangerous that was! Surely she couldn’t risk leaving Henry alone like that?
“I have to Radzig. This needs to be contained, you and I both know what plague can do to a community when left unattended—”
“I’ll send for aid from the monastery,” he begged, interrupting her.
“They won’t send anyone, and even if they did, they won’t get here in time. We need to seal the gates now. No one in or out.”
In his heart he knew what she said was true. The shadow of the Great Pestilence loomed large over all of them. They couldn’t let whatever had befallen Skalitz spread to the surrounding towns, but surely that didn’t mean they had to lock themselves inside too. The forge was outside of the gates, after all.
“Stay here. We’ve plenty of space, you won’t—”
“My lord,” Martin interrupted, and solemnly shook his head.
“Martin and I have discussed it. We need to help, however we can. But” —her voice broke and she took a shaky, gasping breath— “that doesn’t mean Henry needs to stay too.”
“What are you saying?”
“Please, Radzig,” she placed another kiss on Hal’s forehead, “will you take care of Henry?”
There was a finality to her words that sent a cold rush down Radzig’s spine. She wasn’t asking him to look after Henry for a few days, or even a couple of weeks whilst they waited for everything to blow over. “No,” he replied immediately, eyes blowing wide. “Anna, you can’t mean that.” She couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Martin?” he turned to his friend, the one who had done better for Anna and Henry than he ever could have, and was met with a shake of his head and downcast expression.
“It really is that bad, my lord.”
Radzig felt the world slip out from under him, but still, he nodded, overcome with the need to protect at least one member of their family. “Of course, I will take care of Henry, but you should both be here too,” he replied unable to let it go.
He was only met with sad smiles, and sadder eyes.
Anna gently coaxed their boy awake, running her hand through his hair until his eyes blinked sluggishly open. “Hi, baby,” she whispered impossibly sweet.
“Ma?” Henry said, yawning, “I don’t wanna get up yet.”
“I’m sorry baby, but you have to get up.”
Henry squirmed, turning over in Anna’s embrace, trying to bury himself under her arm in protest. “I don’t wanna!”
“Henry,” Martin’s voice boomed through the room, a command that stopped Henry in his tracks until he blinked himself truly awake this time and took a look around the room.
“Where are we, Pa?”
Despite living just outside of its walls, Henry had never been inside Skalitz’s castle, they had all made sure of that. ‘Respectable distance’ he had called it, but really it was a way of Radzig keeping himself in line so he wouldn’t get too attached to a child that would never be his.
He had failed in that regard.
He took every moment he could to watch Henry run around the forge from the battlements. From catching his first tentative steps, to watching him dig up his mother’s turnips whilst playing in the mud after a storm; every memory forbidden to him recorded in his mind from afar.
“You’ve seen Sir Radzig before,” Anna said with a gentle smile. “He’s going to look after you for a little while, whilst your pa and I help look after our friends who have come down sick.”
Radzig’s heart raced, no explanation was given as to why Henry would be staying with him exactly. No hit of any familial ties, or even the permanency that they all expected. Anna made it sound like it would only be for a few days, even though they all knew it wouldn’t.
“Like Háta?” Henry’s lip trembled as he mumbled his question.
Anna nodded, her smile never leaving her face, always gentle, always calm, no matter what was going on around her. It was one of the things Radzig loved most about her. “Exactly like Háta. She needs someone looking after her.”
Henry’s face scrunched as tears pooled in his eyes. “No!” he screeched, hurling himself at Anna’s neck and refusing to let go. “You can’t, Mama! Háta’s mama got sick and now she’s gone. Mama and Papa should stay with me!”
Anna hugged back, rubbing soothing circles over Hal’s back. “Your mama is the only one around here who knows how to help these people. Just like I did when you got sick at Christmastide, do you remember, Hal? So I need to try to make these people feel better, okay Henry?”
Radzig barely heard the muffled ‘okay’ in reply.
“You must promise me that you’ll be a good boy for Sir Radzig, Henry.” Henry stubbornly shook his head, clinging to Anna’s neck.
Radzig could see that Anna was barely holding back tears of her own, swallowing on nothing and biting her lips together over and over. He couldn’t imagine how hard this was for them, even as his own heart felt hollow at what they were doing.
“Promise me, Hal,” Anna choked out, her voice rough with emotion.
“I promise,” Hal mumbled reluctantly.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” She kissed his forehead. “I love you so much, baby. You’re such a good boy. I’m sorry to leave you. I love you,” she mumbled sweet nothings into Henry’s hair as she hugged him tightly to her chest, letting her tears finally fall. Radzig almost turned away, not wanting to intrude on such a personal moment for her, but a heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him.
Martin looked him up and down before nodding just once and offering his arm. Radzig too it, pulling his friend into a much needed embrace.
“Take care of him, my lord.”
Radzig rolled his eyes as the continued formality, despite everything between them. Though he knew Martin would argue it was because of everything between them. “You have my word, Martin,” he replied, then lowered his voice, “He is my son, I cannot do anything else.”
It was a simple truth. Another lord may have refused his bastard, or sent him to work in the stables or the kitchens—done the bare minimum, even for his own flesh and blood. Radzig could not. He never wanted Henry to be a bastard in the first place, even the thought of treating Hal with such callous made him sick to his stomach.
Martin laughed gruffly. “You are a good man, Radzig Kobyla.”
“Not as good as you, Martin.”
“You did what you could, and you know it. Take care of yourself as well, my lord.”
He hated this, the finality of it all. Their certainty that they would not escape the plague. Everything.
And yet, he nodded. Let Martin go unchallenged back to his wife and son, because there was nothing he could do. He could be the King of the Romans and still he would be powerless to stop them.
Martin knelt down in front of Henry as Anna finally let him go. “Listen closely, Henry, it’s important that you remember this.” The change in Henry was immediate. Martin started talking and Henry listened with serious eyes and a frown usually sported by Martin alone. “No matter what happens, your ma and I love you. That will never change, you hear me?”
Henry’s nostrils flared as tears welled up in his eyes again, but he nodded and Martin smiled.
“Good.” Henry leapt forward to hug Martin as he stood up, barrelling into him, almost knocking him off balance. Martin did what he could to return the hug, no matter the awkward angle Henry had left him in. “Now stay here, that’s a good lad. Your ma and I need to talk to Sir Radzig outside.”
So it was time.
He followed Anna and Martin out of his study. They paused in the corridor right outside, all of them waiting for the door to softly click shut before even attempting to speak.
Martin went first, “I’ll give you two some time,” he said, barely stopping to clap Radzig on his shoulder before he was walking down the corridor to the door that led to the stairs.
Radzig turned to Anna; it had been so long since they were alone together. That thought alone brought a pain to his chest.
She was older than he remembered, wrinkles starting to appear at the corner of her eyes, and yet her beauty had only grown. He couldn’t stop himself, reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind her ear, only to end up cupping her cheek. She leant into it, closing her eyes with a smile. Perhaps if he close his he could pretend they were young and carefree once again, standing in a field of marigolds in the late summer sun. No Skalitz, no responsibilities, no plague.
But he couldn’t look away from her for a single moment.
“Anna,” he choked out.
She placed a finger on his lips, shushing him. “Don’t,” she whispered and stepped forward, wrapping her arms tightly around his chest in a hug. “Let’s just have this.”
He placed a kiss to her hair and hugged back just as tightly. “Of course.”
They stood there, trapped in each other’s embrace for longer than was proper but not nearly long enough. Eventually, Anna let go, and Radzig allowed her to step back.
He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “I’ll miss you so much.”
She smiled, glancing back towards his office door. “Look after our son for me.”
“Always… perhaps it’s not as bad as you fear… perhaps you’ll find a way…”
Anna shook her head. “It’s bad Radzig. You must seal the gates. Tonight.”
Radzig couldn’t answer her, instead he used one hand to tip her chin up to face him and placed a soft, chaste kiss to her lips. “I love you. I never stopped.”
Anna laughed against his mouth, “I know, because I never stopped either.” She kissed him back deeper this time, as though she was allowing herself to fill one last desire, before pushing away. “I mean it Radzig. Tonight.”
And she was gone, following after Martin to face whatever the plague could throw at them.
He would grant her wish. Anna was right, as much as he wished she wasn’t; the town needed to be sealed, and he needed to send word to Sasau, and arrange for food deliveries and—
One step at a time. He called over his guard captain, telling him to seal the town and set a 24 hour watch. Then he penned a quick note to the monks at Sasau monastery, calling for aid and sent it with young Janek. He was new to his position, but that meant he was nothing if not eager to please, and he could ride well. It would reach them, the only question was if they would respond.
Arranging food for the town was a task that could be done on the morrow, so he returned to his study to find Henry.
Radzig let himself in softly, half hoping Henry had fallen asleep, but he was still right where Anna had left him: sitting on one of the chairs by the fireplace, staring blankly ahead. He let the door close normally, to let Henry know he was there and started towards his boy. Henry turned and blinked owlishly up at him before glancing back at the door. The moment he realised no one else was there he burst into fresh tears and jumped out of his seat burying his face in Radzig’s waist.
Radzig froze.
He had no idea what to do with a crying child who is just coming up to his fifth winter. Why in God’s name did Anna think he could do this? But something about the way Henry’s hands gripped his shirt, about how his little arms dug almost painfully into his sides called to something deep within him and Radzig found himself soothing one hand over Henry’s hair, and hugging his boy to himself with the other.
“Hush, Hal,” he whispered, detangling himself from Henry enough to kneel down to his height, and used a thumb to wipe away his still-falling tears. “Your ma and pa are being very brave. So you need to be brave for them.”
Radzig tried to put on his best smile, but it probably came off as more of a grimace. Henry didn’t seem to mind—though part of that could have been because he was blinded by tears—and his crying slowed to gentle hiccups, then nothing as he wiped his own tears on his sleeve and nodded resolutely.
“Good boy. We’ll find you a room tomorrow, but for tonight you can sleep with me. Does that sound good?”
Henry nodded again, stifling a yawn—drained from his crying—and opening his arms. Radzig stumbled for a moment as he stood up, unsure of what Henry was wanting, but Henry’s arms followed him as he did so until they were stretched up high and he realised Hal wanted to be carried.
Henry didn’t weigh as much as Radzig thought he would, though where his preconceptions were coming from he didn’t know, but it was no hassle to carry Henry back to his room, and even less to strip the outer layers off his sleepy son. Henry was out like a light by the time Radzig was tucking them both under the blankets and he allowed himself the indulgence of kissing his forehead. “Good night, Hal. Sleep tight.”
The sickness didn’t ease. If anything it got worse. Each day brought a new list of sick and dead, and each day Radzig’s heart clenched in fear that he would hear the two names he wanted to the least.
No news came from the monastery, but Radzig had managed to secure a consistent supply of food from the town.
Somehow the castle remained unscathed by the sickness. If the Great Pestilence taught them anything, it’s that the plague was a sneaky beast. Even someone who looked healthy could be carrying the sickness and one must wait a few days to make sure the sickness hasn’t reached one’s own house when isolated. After a week of no one falling ill within the castle walls, Radzig began to make plans to leave. They needed more help and if he had to go to Prague to get it, he would.
Radzig’s only issue was Henry. He couldn’t leave him in Skalitz by himself, nor could he take him all the way to Prague without making even more preparations, so he did the only thing he could—write to Rattay to see if Hanush would have him as a guest for a few weeks.
Hanush’s reply to the affirmative was instant.
Then, halfway through packing Henry’s meagre belongings, Radzig heard the words that had been haunting his nightmares.
“Anna, wife of the blacksmith, Martin, has succumbed to the sickness. Martin the blacksmith has fallen sick.”
The words hit him like a shot from a handgonne. He dismissed his guard and locked himself in his study, thankful that Henry was off playing—probably in the kennels—because he needed to keep it together for him, and he couldn’t do that right now. He hadn’t even known Anna was sick! Why hadn’t they told him Anna was sick?
He swept his arms across his desk, sending papers flying, quills fluttering and the ink pot crashing to the ground. Someone should have told him. But no, to everyone else, Anna was always only ever a side note to him and Martin—from Radzig’s father, to the people of Skalitz.
And now she was gone.
He’d never hear her laugh, or see her smile again. Never listen to her beautiful voice as she sung Henry to sleep or watch her face scrunch up as Henry did something to exasperate her.
She was just gone.
It wasn’t fair.
Radzig didn’t know when he started crying—it could have been in front of his guard for all he knew—but he needed to get it together. Henry needed him to get it together.
And he needed to figure out how he was going to tell Henry. Though, perhaps that was best left for a later time entirely… when he could avoid it no longer.
The journey to Rattay was, compared to the events of the previous fortnight, uneventful. Henry had cried when they left, unused to the horse beneath them, scared that he’d fall off, but soon settled down into his arms. They travelled slowly and soon enough Henry was giggling and wriggling like he hadn’t a care in the world, and it was Radzig’s turn to have his whits scared out of him.
They arrived in Rattay in the mid afternoon, Henry immediately gaping at the walled town on the hill. It was so different from Skalitz, whose wooden palisades were nothing compared to the great stone walls of Rattay town.
They had ridden south, from Talmberg, through Ledetchko and across the Sasau, just so he could give Henry the most impressive first impression he could. It made his heart swell to look down and see the most tender expression of wonder on his face.
“Are we going up there?” Henry asked.
“Yes, this is Rattay. Sir Hanush of Leipa has invited you to stay with them for a couple of weeks while I travel to Prague.”
“Why can’t I go with you?” Radzig didn’t even need to look down to know Henry was pouting.
“Well, Prague is a very long way, so I need to make some arrangements. But next time, Hal, I promise.”
Henry seemed to forget about Prague the very next moment as Pirkstein’s tower cam into view and Radzig couldn’t help but laugh at Henry’s enthusiasm for it.
“That’s where we’ll be going.” Hanush’s letter had mentioned housing Henry with his ward, Hans Capon of Pirkstein, as they were both of a similar age.
“Really?”
“Yes, just a couple of minutes more.” Radzig spurred their mount on, trying to get there as fast as he could. For Henry.
Hanush was just leaving Pirkstein as they rode into its yard. Radzig handed Henry down to a stablehand before swinging himself off his horse and corralling Henry towards their host.
“Good afternoon, Hanush,” he greeted.
“Good afternoon to you too, Radzig,” Hanush laughed in reply. “Come, let us talk inside.
Hanush led them up the stairs and into a modest hall where a table of food had been laid out for them.
Radzig urged Henry forward to greet their host. “Hanush this…” he paused, knowing he should have spoken to Henry before then, but couldn’t in his all-consuming grief. “This is my son, Henry.”
Henry’s eyes snap to his. “Why are you lying? You’re not my pa.”
“Henry…”
Henry was furious, face scrunching and cheeks turning a bright angry red. “No!” he shouted, and slipped out of Radzig’s grasp. “You’re! Not! My! Pa!”
Henry disappeared out of the room and Radzig moved to follow him, but Hanush laid a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
“He won’t get far old friend. Trust me. Let him go for a moment. He needs to calm down. The guards will stop him if he tries to leave the castle.”
They didn’t need to. Henry hadn’t even tried to leave Pirkstein, instead getting distracted by the kennels, and thank God Rattay’s hunting dogs were mellow creature when not out on the hunt, he would never have forgiven himself Henry had been bitten by one of them.
Underhanded it may be, but Radzig couldn’t let Henry run away form him again, not in a strange new place where he didn’t know where he was going, so he snuck up on him, kneeling beside him and trapping him from being ale to leave the dogs’ pen.
“Henry,” he said gently, as not to scare the boy, “would you look at me, please.”
Henry turned, but didn’t look up, focussing instead on scuffing his shoes against the packed mud. “You’re not my pa,” he pouted, crossing his arms.
“I know I’m not your pa. I never want to take your pa from you. But,” he took a deep breath, and placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder, “You have two pas.” Henry finally looked up at him, eyes narrowed, confused. “Sometimes the people we love, the people we call our family, are not related to us by blood. Your pa loves you very much. Nothing will ever change that. But he met your ma after you were already growing in her belly, because I also love your ma very much.” He was messing this up, wasn’t he—a fist grasped his heart, Anna would know what to say.
“We all love you. So very much. Your ma, your pa, and me, your…your father. How does that sound?”
Henry was looking to him, confused, but concentrating on his words, adding them up. Finally, he nodded finding them to his satisfaction. Whether or not not he actually understood what Radzig was saying, remained to be seen, but it was something they could face another day. Perhaps when he was a little older.
“Who are you?” A new voice boomed behind them, young, but sure of himself. Almost certainly the young lord Capon.
A mop of wispy blond hair greeted him as he got up, holding Henry gently against his legs, barely holding back a self satisfied smile when he leant into the embrace.
“Good afternoon, lad. I am Sir Radzig Kobyla. This is my son, Henry of Skalitz.”
The other boy’s face fell, curiosity giving way to fear, then anger. Radzig had a bad feeling about this.
“Get away from them!” Hans shouted, well, more like screamed, snatching Henry’s hand and pulling him out of the kennel. Then, Hans rubbed his own vigorously on his shirt, looking down at it as though it could kill him.
Henry looked moments away from busting into tears at the screaming and harsh treatment.
Radzig didn’t think, he leant down and scooped Henry into his arms cradling his head in the crook of Radzig’s neck.
“Young Capon, what are you doing.”
“Skalitz has the plague. He’s going to get my dogs sick.”
“I can assure you. Henry does not have the plague.”
The boy turned to him and, despite his small stature, somehow managed to look down at Radzig. “He’s from Skalitz,” he said, as if that explained everything and Radzig was stupid for not comprehending.
Radzig moved to put Henry down, figuring the conversation he needed to have with the young lord would best be done from his own level, but the moment he did, Hans screamed and scurried to the back of the kennels. He was truly afraid. He wasn’t just being facetious.
Radzig stood back up keeping the slowly crying Henry curled into his chest. He was not the best person to have this conversation with Hans, but Hanush would need to be made aware of his behaviour. It would need to be addressed if Henry was to spend any time there. Hopefully by the time he returned from Prague the two boys would be thick as thieves.
When he returned two weeks later, having sorted accommodation for them in Prague, he learnt it had not, in fact, got any better. To the point that Hanush had moved Henry to the upper castle with him because Hans had been so inconsolable with Henry near.
He would need to have a chat with Henry when they got to Prague, make sure he knew he was doing nothing wrong and it wasn’t his fault. Plague scares everyone.
Though, with a bit of luck the boys would have forgotten all this the next time they met. It wouldn’t do well to be so antagonistic with their neighbour.
6 Years Old
The contingent from Rattay arrived just after the worst storm of the season. Wind still howled through the parapets of Skalitz castle, though the deluge of rain had stopped, if only to leave behind rivers of mud. Radzig had retreated to his study during the worst of the weather, and way yet to emerge, preferring to savour what little peace he had left before the Rattay Rascal descended upon them.
No, that was unchristian of him. Young Hans had just lost his father, after all, and on the man’s first visit to Rattay in years. Awful.
So when he had received Hanush’s letter asking him to receive the boy for the summer, Radzig could do nothing but agree, despite what Henry may think.
They were neighbours, it was the Christian thing to do.
A knock on the door startled him out of his rumination. Henry popped his head around it, expression contorted into a devastatingly serious pout despite the fact that his thumb was anchored in his mouth. That could mean only on thing.
“They’ve arrived, father,” Henry said, thumb barely allowed to slip out of his mouth whilst he said it.
“Thank you, Henry. I’ll be down in a moment.”
He expected Henry to leave then, but he stayed, looking towards Radzig intently.
“What are you doing?” Henry said, inching over to his desk.
Radzig sighed and pushed his chair back just enough to allow Henry to sit on his knee. Radzig allowed himself a moment to hug his boy close, pressing his face into Henry’s hair and smelling the sweet floral soap his maid washed it with that morning. “I am looking over the correspondences that were held up due to the storm.”
Henry leant over the desk so quickly he almost toppled them both over and Radzig had to bite back a laugh; the boy learns his letters and the first thing he wants to do is snoop. He truly is his son. “Did uncle send anything?”
‘Uncle’ as though Henry wasn’t talking about the King of Bohemia. He really would have to have a conversation with his friend about spoiling his son.
“Not today, Hal.” He jogged his knee to get Henry sitting back snug against his chest. “I received a letter from Sasau monastery about needing more silver than they originally ordered for one of their new shrines, you can see their seal here.”
“And the pretty writing.”
Radzig chucked, “Yes, and the pretty writing.”
“Who’s this one from?” Henry motioned to a missive from Poland. Bad news, as it always seemed to be these days. He half expected to get a summons from Prokop, commanding he join them. If he ever did he would happily use Henry as reason not to leave Skalitz any time soon. Wenceslas would back him up. He loves Henry.
“That one is just bringing us news from Poland. Very dull.” Henry didn’t need to learn of the horrors of war quite yet—not when he wasn’t even a page. “Something that can be answered later, we have guests to greet do we not?”
He heaved Henry into his arms, one day soon he’d have to stop carrying him around whenever the fancy took them, but until then, he’d savour having his son close for as long as he could. They had moving around the castle like this down to a fine act, Henry lifted latches as Radzig pushed doors open. The guards, who used to run to help, now knew they weren’t needed.
By the time they reached the courtyard, Hanush was handing their horses over to the castle stable hands to be looked after, young lord Capon standing behind him with his arms crossed looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there—both of their cloaks covered in mud.
“Hanush!” Radzig greeted, “Good journey?”
“Bah! I was starting to think I’d be seeing mud in my dreams from here to kingdom come.”
“I’ll have Elishka draw you both a bath, and tell your men if they want to use the baths in town that I’ll settle the bill tomorrow. It’s the least I can do.”
Hanush nodded to him, handing orders to the guards who travelled with them and ushered Hans inside, away from the blustering wind that circled the courtyard like a tempest, as servants unloaded Hans’ belongings from the covered cart they had brought with them.
It would be a little while before the baths were ready so Radzig invited their neighbours to the main hall, where a fire would be roaring and they could warm up from their journey in comfort.
“Henry, why don’t you show Hans to the room he’ll be staying in? I’m sure they’ve managed to get his things inside by now, you can help him unpack,” he murmured into his boy’s hair as Radzig set him down.
Henry’s eyes flicked to where Hans was sitting, picking at a kolach the cooks had prepared in expectation of their arrival, and his pout returned. Radzig bit his lips to surprise a laugh then, once the feeling had subsided, he sighed. The two boys certainly hadn’t gotten off on the right foot, but that was two years ago now, they were both older, and hopefully wiser.
He raised his brow waiting for the inevitable capitulation, smiling when Henry did so with a huff, and roll of his eyes. “Good boy, Hal,” he said, ruffling him on the top of his head.
Henry reluctantly let Hans out of the room, toward their rooms. Radzig watched them go, waiting until the door had been closed for a good new moments before he turned back to his friend as asked, “That should keep them busy for a while, tell me Hanush, how are things?”
“It’s a mess is what it is. The boy’s father comes back for two weeks and kicks the bucket on us,” he said, taking a long swig of wine, straight out of the bottle. “Bloody inconvenient. We’ve only just got everything in order after my father died. That was a mess and his only job was looking after the boy.”
Radzig considered him for a moment, taking a sip from his own glass. Jan Jesek was an old man, even when his son was born, and all too happy to retire to Polna without his boy once his line was secured. What brought him back to Rattay was beyond Radzig, even less what he was thinking going on a hunt at his age and with the spring weather. The man had been thrown from his horse by a spooked boar, and he wasn’t even granted the grace of a clean death like so many others were. No, he had to suffer for days before the fever took him, all while his son was watching on.
The poor boy.
“The council Jan appointed are on their way to make sense of this mess,” Hanush sighed deeply, “Thank you for taking the boy in over the summer. The last thing we need is him running around and getting in our way at a time like this.”
“You are most welcome, Hanush, but are you sure you must leave tomorrow? You are welcome anytime, take a few days to rest before travelling—”
An almighty, anguished, scream interrupted them, and Radzig had a terrible sinking feeling.
Perhaps the boys weren’t much wiser, after all.
He ran out of the room, taking the stairs up to their rooms two at a time, not waiting to see if Hanush was following or not. Henry’s room was directly opposite his own, looking out onto the rolling hills and farmland rather than into the courtyard like his did.
It was a decent sized room, one he expected his son to grow with, rather than move out of. Though at present it only held a bed, bookshelf and chest, Radzig was already looking to commission his son a desk to make use of his new found skills in reading and writing. Especially as Wenceslas was determined to keep sending Henry any book he deemed appropriate and often asked for letter’s in Hal’s messy, all too large, hand.
Which is why his heart sank when he opened the door and saw Hal’s favourite book, a charming little story about a hare who gets lost finding his way home, strewn across the floor, the pages torn raggedly from their binding.
Hal sat on his bed, knees curled up to his chest, hugging what remained of the book to himself, tears running down his cheeks as he glared daggers at the young Lord Capon across the room. Hans, for his part, cradled a splintered and singed bow in his arms.
Radzig forced himself to take a deep breath. Parenting Hal required him to reevaluate his worldview, specifically that it was, in fact, much like his battle planning. He needed to be patient, and to think things through before he acted; placing blame and reprimanding before understanding the situation did nothing to resolve the conflict. So he didn’t, and he didn’t let Hanush lead with his bellowing either.
He placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder to restrain him from such methods as well. “Hanush, would you take Hans down to the hall again and call for something to drink. I’m going to get Hal’s side of the story and then I’ll be down to get Hans’.”
Hanush opened his mouth, as if to argue, or perhaps shout at the boys, but then thought better of it, and sternly let Hans out of the room. Radzig made his way over to Henry’s bed, sitting down next to him, and placing his hands non-threateningly in his lap.
“Well, out with it,” Radzig said, “What’s your side to all this?”
Henry’s lip wobbled, fat tears still flowing freely down his cheeks. “He wouldn’t stop! I told him to stop but he wouldn’t!” he cried, burying his head in his knees.
“Wouldn’t stop what?”
“Tearing my book up. I just wanted to show it to him. I said he could read it and everything. But he said he didn’t want it. He wanted to go home. And he started tearing the pages out!”
“And then what happened,” Radzig asked gently, placing his hand on Henry’s knee and rubbing small circles into the top of his leg.
Henry blushed bright red, unable to meet his eyes as he mumbled, “I put his bow into the fire.”
Radzig sighed, trying to convince himself that it could have been worse, he wasn’t sure exactly how, but the possibility was always there. “You shouldn’t have done that, Hal. Hans is our guest here for the summer. You two need to get along.”
“He started it!” Henry insisted, and Radzig smiled sadly at him, turning him around and gathering him into his arms.
“I know, son. And I know it’s not fair, but do you remember what I told you about hosting guests.”
“Guests are an ex… exten... a part of the family,” Henry huffed, and Radzig could see his pout in his mind, even if he couldn’t see if from where he was sitting.
“Exactly. Would you have thrown my bow in the fire, even if I started tearing pages out of your book?”
Henry gasped, turning to look up at him with a look of pure shock, “No! I wouldn’t father. I promise.”
“Good. Then why did you do it to Hans’?” He stroked a hand through Henry’s hair, trying hard to show his son that he wasn’t upset or angry. These things happen, they’re a part of growing up. Mistakes are what make you learn.
“I don’t know,” Henry said, shocked, as though he couldn’t comprehend what came over him. Radzig had to hold back a chuckle, oh to be young again. Six, and barely in control of one’s emotions. “I was just so mad. I’m sorry, father.”
“I know you are, Hal, but I’m not the one you should be apologising to, huh?”
Henry pouted up at him, jaw jutting out and face scrunched. “I know. I’ll say sorry.”
“Good. You do that, and I’ll make sure to write to your uncle this evening and tell him that a terrible accident befell your favourite book. I’m sure he won’t hesitate to send you a new copy.”
Henry scrambled to his knees, looking up at Radzig with pleading eyes more deadly than any puppy’s. “Really? You’re not mad?”
“Really.”
Henry launched into a hug that almost had Radzig toppling backwards, he let out a winded gasp before finally letting himself laugh at his boy. He wrapped his arms around him and held him tight for a few moments before placing him back on his bed and ruffling his hair.
“Now, I have another young rascal to tell to apologise and ask why he was tearing up my son’s favourite book.”
He sighed again as he left Henry in his room, it was going to be a long summer.
14 Years Old
“C’mon! Focus boys!” Bernard called out for what felt like the hundredth time that day. The young lords had only been back in Rattay for a few weeks and they were already at each others throats during every training session.
Every day was a new competition. Who was better at the sword? Who was better at the bow? Who could catch more hares? On and on it went until they inevitably started scrapping, rolling around together like they were still five and not fourteen and about to become squires. Mary have mercy on his nerves, and they boys getting on them.
They were both progressing well, as far as their skill with the sword was concerned. Their styles complimented each other greatly, if the two of them ever got their heads out of their arses to realise they should be looking to better each other, not be better than each other. They were allies after all.
Henry fought with a sure stance and a heavy, precise blow. He was nimble enough, but relied on standing his ground and outlasting his opponent to win.
Hans, on the other hand, was all about movement, jab and retreat, slash and dance away. With him it was death by a thousand well aimed cuts, and good luck to catch him as he did so.
The sun beat down on them. It was past noon and Bernard had finally had enough of watching the two needle each other and he called the session to a close.
“Alight you two, that’s enough for today. Harvest can’t come quickly enough if you ask me. Shoo, go pack your things away and pull each others’ pigtails somewhere else.”
The two boys hopped over the fence laughing and jibing at one another, and started putting their equipment in the chests. Bernard followed at a much slower pace, letting their conversation wash over him.
“Are you going back to Englesberg?” Young Hans asked.
They weren’t about to start this conversation again? They had it practically every summer when Henry came back for visit on the way to spending a few months with his father. Henry had paged for Lord Posy, and Lord Posy had asked to take Hal on as a squire.
His father must be proud to have a son capable of maintaining such relationships.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I am.”
“But that’s so far away!” One day Hans will admit to just wanting to be friends with Henry in a normal way, instead of confusing the boy with complaints and moans. Henry may be smart, but that all goes out of the window where Hans is concerned.
“Lord Posy is good to me. And Jan and Miroslav are my friends. Why wouldn’t I want to go back and squire for them?”
“You could come to Polna with me.”
“You. Want me. To go to Polna. With you?” Saints preserve them, Hans really does. Bernard could tell it from the distinct whine in his voice.
“Of course, I need someone I can beat in the training ring when I’m having a bad day.”
“We’re even!”
“Not if you count our archery competitions, we’re not.”
“Since when are we counting our archery competitions?”
“Since I said we are.”
Henry aimed for the legs, tripping Hans. But Hans went down fighting, pulling Henry down with him and rolling them both over in the mud. Bernard sighed, why was it always like this with them? Couldn’t they just play nice?
“Boys!” he reprimanded, raising an eyebrow as he caught their gazes from the corner of his eyes. They stopped their wrestling, straightening themselves out and dusting themselves off as they continued stripping their armour and Bernard felt safe enough to return to his work of polishing some sword blades.
“Who would I even squire for there?” Henry said after a few moments of silence.
“I’m sure one of my uncles would take you.”
The snort of incredulity had Bernard glancing back over just in time to see a new contest of ‘who could make the other topple over first just with shoulder bumps’ break out. He rolled his eyes and went back to his equipment.
The boys fell suspiciously silent.
Bernard glanced back and hoped they hadn’t devolved into a pizzle measuring contest. A real one that time.
For once, he needn’t have worried. The boys were kneeling shoulder to shoulder in front of their equipment chest, quietly murmuring to one another as they organised and put away their things
Bernard sighed. There was hope for the two of them yet.
18 Years Old
Prague was a majestic city, a true jewel of Bohemia, and the entire Holy Roman Empire. With bustling, winding streets, all manner of people and trades, and striking architecture, Henry could get lost there for weeks and still find something new the next time he visited.
And he visited a lot.
Ever since he was four, he had made the trip to Prague a couple of times a year. Even when he was assigned to the Zimburg family in Moravia, he still managed to talk his way into a trip or two, claiming a knight should know his own capital city, should he not?
In actual fact, it was just an excuse to see the man he called ‘uncle’ but to the rest of the nation was ‘King Wenceslas’, and when he arrived he was never shy to admit it. Neither was his uncle, who met him with more and more enthusiasm each visit, showering him in attention and giving him anything his heart desired.
But today was different.
Today, Henry officially became a knight, beside numerous other noblemen’s sons, of course. It would be unseemly for him to be singled out—but there were not nearly as many squires there as there should have been.
His father and Sir Hanush were talking about it earlier. Both the Von Bergows and Rosenbergs—prominent families in the League of Lords—had sent their sons to be knighted by King Sigismund of Hungary, in the most direct rebellion by the League yet.
Henry wasn’t stupid he knew Sigismund had his eyes set on Morvaria. He read his father’s missives, he knows Sigismund is building an army, and he also knows that once he were done with Moravia (especially with Jobst on his side), Sigismund would soon turn his attention to Bohemia.
They all knew it, but to so openly rebel against their own king was unthinkable, and the Royal Chamberlain at that! If it wasn’t tangled in a sticky web of politics, Henry was sure uncle would have removed the family from his service. But as it was, he couldn’t afford to publicly lose them.
Sure, his uncle may not be as good a king as his father was, but that was an impossible task for anyone, and he would rather have Uncle Wenceslas than Sigismund any day. Someone who waged war on the people they wanted to rule over, did not make a good ruler in his mind.
And yet the League of Lords would toss their chaperons in with Sigismund’s lot in a heartbeat.
Henry put the thoughts of politics behind him as he entered the hall of Prague castle. He could afford to think about other things today.
The moment he entered the room his eyes immediately searched for Hans. They hadn’t seen much of each other during the past few years—they were pages and squires to different families after all—but the times when they both were home in Sasau were among some of Henry’s favourites. Hans may annoy him to high heaven, but at this point they had been through so much together that his handsome mug was just as much home as Skalitz.
The Zimburgs were there, officially supporting the knighting of Tug—Miroslav, but had spent the morning with him whilst Radzig was with the King. He smiled and waved to them, but let them be—his was Miroslav’s day after all—and continued his search for Hans.
Henry’s eyes slid over the crowd, he couldn’t find him, nor Sir Hanush which hopefully meant they hadn’t arrived in the hall yet, but he did spy someone else he knew well.
Dressed in his familiar black, Sir Bartosch stood tall at the side of the room, away from many of the families celebrating the day, but not too far to be rude. Their eyes met, and immediately Henry felt more at peace. Bartosch had that effect on him. His soft gaze and mellow never failed to bring a smile to Henry’s face, and he wandered over, still having plenty of time before the ceremony began.
“Sir Bartosch, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Bartosch smiled and clapped Henry’s shoulder. “And miss your knighting? I thought you would think more of me but now, Henry.” He laughed along with his friend, memories of visits to Charles University flashing through his mind. “I thought I would arrange my visit to to the university to coincide. I remember how excited you were the last time you visited, Henry.”
Henry ducked his head, a small blush rising on his cheeks, “That means a lot, Bartosch, thank you. You haven’t seen Hans Capon around anywhere have you? My height, blond hair, loud,” he described when Bartosch looked back at him blankly.
“Does he tend to wear inordinate amounts of gold?”
Henry perked up. “Yes! Do you know him.”
“Ah, I haven’t had the pleasure, but someone matching your description just walked in.” He nodded over Henry’s shoulder and Henry immediately turned, Bartosch all but forgotten.
His friend was right. Hans stood by the door adorned in his usual gold pourpoint, looking radiant in the soft afternoon light streaming through the windows.
Their eyes met and Hans’ smile shone almost as bright as the sun itself.
Until it didn’t.
Hans’ smile fell away, leaving only a confused scowl as Henry bound up to him.
“Hans—!”
“Who was that?” Hans interrupted his scowl deepening, glaring over Henry’s shoulder.
Henry followed his gaze beck to where bartosch was now in conversation with one of the attending clergymen. “That? Oh, that’s Sir Bartosch. I met him on one of my visits to the university. He’s nice.”
“I don’t like him,” Hans declared.
“Wha—? You’ve not even met him Hans.”
“And I don’t need to, he just has that look.” Hans crossed his arms and looked away towards the other side of the room.
“You’re being unfair, Hans.”
“Hardly. As I said, he just has that look. So you should stay away from him.”
Ah.
Warmth settled in Henry’s chest, Hans was jealous of Bartosch of all people. They rarely ever saw each other, just a couple of times during his trips to Prague, he and Hans saw each other every few weeks! Especially since their squiring finished. He rolled his eyes and smiled. “Uh huh? And I suppose I should stay with you?”
“Yes, exactly!” He took Henry’s hand and dragged him away. Henry put up only a token resistance listening to Hans talk about anything and everything that had happened since they last saw each other the previous day.
One day Hans was going to realise that he had no reason to be jealous of Henry’s friends. Not Bartosch. Not Jan and Miroslav. Not any of the other people Henry was on friendly terms with, because, at the end of the day he’d still prefer to be standing next to Hans, taking the mick out of anyone and everyone they deemed appropriate, even each other.
Especially each other.
“You’ll need to stand with us anyway,” Hans continued, “as Sir Radzig is with the King and all.”
That was the one disappointing part of the ceremony. Everyone else had their family with them, but Radzig had duties to the King and couldn’t stand with Henry. And Henry didn’t have anyone else.
Hans made it sound like Henry standing with him and Sir Hanush was a foregone conclusion—he didn’t need to, he could stand alone, but he wanted to stand with Hans.
And Hans wanted him there, too.
The knighting ceremony itself was simultaneously short and long. An endless waiting, followed by a short ceremony in which his uncle wouldn’t even be able to look at him once. Not truly, like they’d usually be, wide smiles and conspiratorial grins that would have his father pinching the bridge of his nose in despair. It was all so clean, so official.
He and Hans stood side by side awaiting their turn. They were from the same region and therefore would be knighted soon after one another. Admittedly, as the Royal Hetman, Radzig could have asked uncle Wenceslas to knight Henry sooner, in a more ‘prestigious’ spot, but both he and his father felt that would do more harm than good—wanting as little attention on Henry as possible.
Instead, they watched as noble son after noble son knelt in front of the king and confirmed their oaths as knights—proud to uphold the law of the land, and protect its people from any and all invaders by the will of God. It was particularly funny to watch the families edging towards the League of Lords swallow their words at that bit, especially now with such open dissent among them.
It was almost a relief to see the final squire take the knee and become a fully fledged knight. At least then they could gorge themselves on wine and foodstuffs while glaring daggers at the other faction across the room.
He was just digging into a deliciously juicy pie when Hans snorted into his wine beside him.
“Are you seeing this Henry?”
Henry turned to the direction Hans nodded. One of the minor lords’ sons was trying to flirt with a beautiful young woman with fire red hair. Badly. She was not best pleased by the attention, pointedly sitting alone to the side of the room, reading a book Henry swore came from uncle’s private library she scowl deepening with every word.
Ooff.
“He just can’t take a hint can he?”
Hans laughed, wrapping his arm around Henry’s shoulder, leaning his weight into him. “No he can’t. Christ! This is painful to watch.”
“And yet I cannot look away.”
“It’s almost mesmerising, how badly he’s fucking this up.”
“Kinda makes me want to go and rescue her.”
“She looks like she’d be more displeased if you did.”
“Oh, aye. But this is for my benefit, not hers. I think my ears are about to start bleeding.”
“‘Thine eyes are like the moss…’ ugh no I can’t continue, I’m getting embarrassed just thinking about it.”
“Like you’re any better.”
“Excuse you, Henry. My poetry is exemplar.”
“Uh huh.”
“No! How dare you! My poetry is… is…”
“A work in progress.”
“I was going to say, ‘My poetry is for refined tastes.’ So not yours.” Hans scowled at him in jest, before both of them burst into a fit of giggles.
As the man finally finished his rendition of some of the worst poetry Henry’s ears had ever been subjected to, the woman looked up from her book. She raised one elegant brow at the man, and said something low that Henry couldn’t make out. It must have been scathing because it sent the man packing, almost in tears, back to his family.
Henry wanted to laugh. Never before had he seen someone so throughly dispatched. He should be taking notes.
Hans sighed, “Go over to her, Hal.”
Blinking at the sudden change in his friend’s voice, Henry cocked his head and didn’t move, “What are you talking about? Why?”
“You obviously seem enamoured.” Hans sounded disappointed, bored almost. Did Hans want to talk to the girl? Is that why he sounded so sad? Because Henry made fun of his poetry and he wanted to try it on the girl?
“I’m not!” he protested. “I just enjoyed seeing someone send him packing so easily.”
“Ha! Did she ever. It was stunning!”
Hans had a dreamy look in his eyes, and Henry sighed. “But don’t let me stop you, if you want to talk to her.”
“What?” Hans said, and sounded genuinely confused. “Why would I want to go talk to her, Henry? She’s not my type at all.”
“Oh.” Henry blinked. “Well, good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah.” He bumped his shoulder against Hans’. “Because that means you’ll stay here with me.” He grinned, finally taking another bite of his pie.
Hans grinned back as they watched the drama continue to unfold. The man had returned to the woman, but this time carrying a flower that has definitely been taken straight out of one of the decorative vases.
The woman snapped her book closed, stood up, and stomped her foot on the man’s so hard that both Henry and Hans winced in sympathy. “I already told you no. Now leave me alone!” She shouted and retreated from the hall, leaving the man bent over in pain and humiliation.
Henry and Hans turned away to hid their laughs from unsympathetic ears. Hans having to go as far as hiding his face in Henry’s shoulder to mask his tears.
“Henry?” Hans said, once the fit had passed.
“Yes, Hans?”
Hans signed, resting his arm around Henry’s shoulder once more.“Promise me something?”
“Anything.”
“If I’m ever an arse. To you, or anyone else. Please just punch me and spare me this embarrassment.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Henry grinned up at Hans whose mouth fell open.
“Why you!”
20 Years Old
Skalitz was burning.
A great hoard of foreigners, led by the ginger fox himself, had appeared on the horizon only moments before and, without a single attempt to parle, descended upon their town like ravenous beasts.
People were screaming, running for their lives as they first dodged a hail of arrows and then the vanguard of the attack. The guards were doing their best to get everyone into the castle, but their garrison was never built to repel a force such as this. Ten garrisons couldn’t repel a force such as this.
Henry grabbed his sword from where it stood by the door—one he’d only just discarded from his friendly duel with that Hungarian fellow, Istvan—and fled his room, running to the castle’s courtyard as fast as he is feet could carry him.
It was pandemonium, there were wounded everywhere, and no guards spare to help them. They were all on the battlements trying to fend off their attackers the best they could. Henry didn’t have his mother’s skill with healing, but he did have his father skill with the sword, and with the drawbridge still down, he could go help fend off their attackers so as many people as possible could take shelter in the castle.
He hadn’t taken but single step forward when a hand wrapped around his upper arm, holding him in place.
“What are you doing, Hal?”
Henry tried to pull out of his father’s grasp, gesturing to the drawbridge, “We can’t just leave them!”
Grief splintered across his father’s face, as his hold on Henry tightened. “I know, but there is nothing we can do.”
He shook his head, “There has to be something, I can go, hold some of them o—”
Radzig tuned Henry to face him completely, he had never seen this side of his father before, except in barely formed memories of his parents’ deaths. He held Henry by both shoulders, thumbs digging in almost painfully. “I’m sorry Henry. I cannot let you go. I will lock you in your room if I have to.”
“But—”
“Nothing. Your intentions are chivalrous, son, but if you leave these walls you won’t help anybody. You will only die, and I can’t lose you too.”
Taking one last look back at the drawbridge, now being steadily raised, he nodded, and took the bow his father held out for him. He may not as good a shot as Hans, but there we so many invaders, he would hardly be able to miss.
The army backed off once the drawbridge was up, satisfying themselves with looting their peoples’ homes when they realised they wouldn’t make any further advances. It was barbaric. The people of Skalitz had little wealth of their own, only the silver in the mines which was sent immediately to the royal mint for processing. Henry watched, eagle-eyed, as the men—Cumans from Hungary, his father later told him—carried off all they could the only thing stopping him taking aim at each and every one he could was Jaroslav’s gentle reminder to save arrows as they had no idea how long they’d be there.
“They mean to besiege us, or starve us out. There’ll be time enough for you to use that bow of yours, sir,” the guard had said the first time Henry angrily took a shot at one Cuman loitering by the old forge.
Henry had huffed, puffed, and paced back and forth as he ground his teeth into oblivion, but in the end had left the battlements to the patrolling guards and gone to see where else he could be helpful. Father had set him organising supplies, they had a well-stocked castle but, as it was, they would barely last the week. At least that was a testament to how many they had managed to save.
Though, looking over the grief-ridden faces it didn’t feel that way. Almost everyone in the castle hadn’t just lost their homes and livelihoods, but their families. Entire households had been slaughtered as they ran for the safety of the castle walls.
Guilt gnawed at Henry’s stomach. It just didn’t seem fair. They were supposed to be the protectors, but they couldn’t do anything.
“Father!” he called his father over, who was just finishing a conversation with Tobias Feyfair—something Henry would make sure to ask about later—and motioned for him to meet Henry inside, before disappearing back into the castle himself.
“What is it, Hal?” his father asked, as he ducked into the cellar moments later.
“I’ve sorted the foods into things that will keep and those that won’t. With everyone in the castle now? We’ll be fine for a few days, but once the fresh food starts running out, we’ll be in for a hard time.”
“How long?”
“A week at most, I estimate. And that’s only if we limit food as much as possible. Not nearly enough to wait for help, and that’s if anyone even got away.”
Father rested his chin on his hand, deep in contemplation.
“Damn it! You’re right, son.” He pat Henry lightly between the shoulder blades, the praise making Henry smile briefly, though it did nothing to make the situation any less severe.
“Alright. Tell Tobias. I’ve put him in charge of the wounded, he’ll be best placed to make sure they get the food they need. The rest of us will have to do with half-rations.
“But hopefully an opportunity to escape will present itself sooner rather than later.”
His father led them out of the cellar, and back into the castle itself, up towards his study. Henry couldn’t get his last words out of his head.
Escape? How can they possibly escape? There was a giant army on their doorstep full of people who don’t hesitate to cut down man, woman or child! Not to mention it was led by Sigismund himself, he won’t give up easily, not when The Royal Hetman was still in his castle, and a thorn in his side.
“Sigismund made one fatal error in attacking today,” Father told him after he voiced his concerns. “He did so with a band of Cumans, not honourable knights, and do you know what Sigismund doesn’t have?”
Henry shook his head as they walked into Radzig’s study and closed the heavy oak doors—sealing them away from the chaos outside.
“Anything to pay them with,” his father finished.
“But the silver—?”
“Means nothing to those men without being pressed into groschen first. They may have taken Kuttenberg and the Royal Mint, but it is still going to be weeks before any of the silver captured today makes it into the hands of his army. Why do you think they were so rabidly tearing each house apart looking for anything of value?”
Henry’s face crunched in concentration. It made sense, the men had nothing keeping them in Sigismund’s service, but the promise of pillaging and looting.
“But that still doesn’t explain why that would make it easier for us to escape.”
“Because, my boy, a disgruntled army is a lax army, and a lax army is an unobservant army.”
“We’re over a hundred people! They can’t be that unobservant, could they?” Henry blinked owlishly at the prospect, moving over to the window that looked over the army pitching their tents for the long haul.
“Not necessarily,” his father smirked, walking over to the bookcase an pulling down a longbow he stored at the top. “Not unless you had a way to sneak past most of them already.”
Henry knew what he was getting at before he even unrolled the maps of the castle and its surrounding areas. There was a track, small and overgrown, that led down from the side of the castle and around the hill, emerging at the mill. If they could distract the army long enough to sneak the civilians down the track, they could be in Talmberg before anyone knew they were gone.
“But still, that’s going to need one hell of a distraction. We don’t have the manpower to mount anything on that sort of scale.”
Father grinned at him again, eyes flicking to the window where dark clouds were rolling on the horizon.
“We won’t need to do anything.”
The storm was the worst Henry had seen in years. Thunder crashed over head, the wind howled and the rain pelted down so hard it stung as it hit his face.
The moment he had seen the storm rolling in, his father had sprung into action. Striding with a purpose Henry hadn’t seen since the attack, Radzig had called over Master Feyfair, Sir Jan—the captain of their guard—and Alex, the bailiff’s son to propose his plan.
Sneak out in the middle of the night, during a storm that would keep the enemy in their tents.
Certainly ambitious, but their backs were against the wall, so they needed to try something, anything to get out of there. From then on, instead of battening down and preparing for a siege, they were busy preparing the few horses stabled in the castle and making makeshift stretchers for those who could not walk themselves.
Father had ordered him to pack whatever he could, and to move anything else into the hall; they weren’t about to let Sigismund get his dirty paws on anything if they could prevent it.
Books, papers, furniture, everything they could move was piled high in the main room and, when everyone else had escaped, Henry was instructed to set it aflame. By the time the fire was starting to catch on the roof, they would be well on their way to Rattay, if Sigismund wanted to brave the storm to follow them, he’d have a seriously hard time doing so.
He and Pebbles—the third—caught up with the caravan far too quickly for his liking. For a moment he was worried they’d been caught—why else would they have stopped at the mill?—but that was until he saw why they had stopped.
Theresa, the miller’s daughter, who he often used the secret track to sneak out and play with growing up, was helping load their more injured members onto the old mill cart with a tear streaked face.
Oh no.
Their eyes met and Henry’s heart sank; Sammy and Stibor didn’t make it.
He dismounted immediately, seeing what, if anything, he could do to help—accepting her orders as he would his own father’s.
Despite the rain and thunder masking their every move, none of them spoke as they loaded the wounded onto the cart, nor as they set off again towards Rovna; fear and exhaustion sapping them of any extra strength but what they needed to keep moving. Making it as far as Talmberg without incident was a relief, but Henry wouldn’t feel safe until they were all safely behind the walls of Rattay.
The journey was arduous, less so once they were far enough away to light some torches, and could move a little faster without worry about where they were putting their feet, but they still didn’t reach Rattay until dawn. Just as the rain stopped and sky cleared—an unforgiving sunrise peeking over the horizon, a constant reminder that it was a new day without those they had lost. The upper castle was a welcoming sight, Henry felt dead in his seat and many of the survivors were wavering dangerously as they trudged towards their salvation, on the brink of collapse.
Father called him forwards from where he was bringing up the rear of the convoy and he urged Pebbles forward, one last pushing she could rest.
“I need you to ride ahead, Hal,” he said, weariness seeping out of every word. “Tell Hanush of what’s happened, and that we’ll be arriving within the hour.
“Of course, father,” he replied with a nod, spurring Pebbles into a gallop—the sooner they got there the better.
The last stretch took him only a quarter of an hour, his heart racing as the drawbridge over the dry moat came closer and closer. He was almost there, one last push and they could all rest.
“Who goes there?” The guard at the gate called out.
“Sir Henry of Skalitz.”
“Sir Henry?” The men gasped, eyes wide as they took in his bedraggled appearance, soaked to the bone and shivering in the cool spring morning.
“I must speak with Sir Hanush, it’s urgent,” he shouted as he rode into the courtyard, swiftly dismounting Pebbles and loosely looping her reins over the fence of the tournament ring. Guards in the yellow and black of Leipa were by his side immediately, ushering him into the hall and giving him some wine as he waited for them to call Sir Hanush. Henry happily collapsed onto one of the waiting benches, letting his head roll back against the wall and closing his eyes. He’d made it, and soon the entire procession of refugees from Skalitz will be safe too.
He downed the glass, and a second when offered. Henry was waiting just long enough to start feeling embarrassed by the water his sodden clothes were dripping on the floor when Sir Hanush barged into the room.
“Henry? What in the blazes is going on?”
Henry jumped to his feet “Sir!”
Sir Hanush took one look at his appearance and his face fell, he called to his squire and sent him down to Pirkstein to wake Hans, telling him to make sure Hans brought a spare change of clothes with him. Then he sat Henry down far gentler than Henry could ever remember the man being. “By god, my boy, what has happened to you?”
Henry felt hot tears streak down his cheeks, how long had he been crying? Was that why SirHanush was being so nice?
“Sigismund, sir—”
“Sigismund?!” Sir Hanush interrupted, outraged, “What has he done now?”
“He’s attacked Skalitz, sir. Him and an entire army. There must have been a hundred banners., both knights and Cumans. It was a slaughter, anyone who couldn’t make it to the castle is dead, and the ones that did aren’t faring much better.”
Sir Hanush started pacing, “And you Hal, how did you escape? I hope Radzig didn’t send you here to get help breaking a siege. We can barely look after our own town.”
“N—no sir!” Henry shook his head earnestly, “We snuck out, during the storm last night. Father sent me ahead to warn you, we’ve been walking all night to get here.”
Hanush turned to him, eyes wide, then threw back his head and laughed with his whole body. “You suck out? Right from beneath the ginger fox’s nose? Ha!” He clapped Henry on the back hard enough that he had to brace himself against the table, or be thrown straight into it. “That must have hurt the usurper’s ego! Fear not, Hal. Our town is always open to you and yours. I’ll greet your father, we’ll get your people sorted out. You head down to Pirkstein and warm up.”
Henry made the trip in a daze, leading Pebbles down to the lower castle on foot as he hadn’t the energy to lift himself into her saddle. It was too early for any market stalls to have been set up, so he only shared the streets with the town guards and those heading off to work early—everyone thankfully too busy minding their own business to bother gaping at him.
His body sagged as Pirkstein’s tower came into view, he dropped Pebbles with some poor stable hand and started climbing the stairs to where he knew there would be a warm fire and plenty of food. His legs felt like lead but the time he reached the second floor, and like they could potentially fall off by the time he was sinking into a chair by the fire.
He must of drifted off, because the next thing he knew he was shooting up in his seat at the sound of the door opening. His heart thundering in its cage. Hans walked it, a grin on his face and pride in his heart.
“Henry! What are you doing here? And you’re soaking wet! Ah, no matter, we’ll soon get you down to the bathhouse and right as rain. I’ll even introduce you to Zdena, she’s got a lovely pair of tits on her. You’ll like her.”
Henry didn’t even open his eyes, didn’t move. “Skalitz was attacked.”
“What? By bandits? Then whatever are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be defending your home like a good knight?”
Nausea roiled in his stomach, he knew Hans didn’t mean it, but each word was a knife twist, reminding him of his failures, of all the people he couldn’t save. He stood, needing to get out before he did something he’d regret. “Hans, please, not today. I’m not in the mood for your needling.”
“Come on Hal,” Hans barrelled on, without a care, “I’ve never see you run from a fight? Where’s your sense of honour? Your Prid—”
Henry turned back, swinging his fist directly into Hans’ face with a sickening crunch. Blood poured out of his nose and Hans had to duck forwards as quick as lightning to avoid bloodying his pourpoint.
“What the fuck, Henry?!”
“I told you I wasn’t in the mood Hans. Please just leave me alone.”
“You punched me! Don’t walk away from me, Henry. You punched me!” Hans grabbed him by the neck of his pourpoint readying his first to respond when Father and Sir Hanush opened the door. Their polite, but weary, conversation stopping the moment they saw Henry and Hans.
The moment he saw the disappointment on his father’s face, Henry knew he was done for.
“Stop that this moment!” Sir Hanush bellowed. “Let go of him Hans, what do you think you are doing?”
“Henry punched me!”
“And what did you do to him?”
“I can’t believe this, uncle, you always take his side.”
Henry for his part took one look at his father and bowed his head, cowed. “I’m sorry,” he bleated pathetically. He couldn’t take back the punch, and it wasn’t right, even if Hans deserved it.
“I know you are, son.” He put a hand on Henry shoulder, “But that’s not going to be enough this time.”
Henry’s heart skipped a beat, his father his never told him that before.
“Whatever this is”—Radzig gestured between the two of them—“it ends now. There are hundreds of people out there who need you. You are both knights now, this behaviour is unbecoming of your oaths.”
Hanush came to stand beside Radzig and declared, “Go hunting.”
“What?” Hans squawked. “You can’t seriously mean that, uncle?”
“And why wouldn’t I? You two need to work yourselves out, and we have a hundred more mouths to feed. Go. Hunting. That’s final Hans.”
Hans threw his arms up, and strode out the door. “*Ugh*, fine. Meet me by the stables in the morning. I’m going to the tavern.”
Henry didn’t even have time to think about how they would be sharing a room, or how Hans would react to that. The moment his head hit the pillow he was out like a light.
Morning came all too quickly. He woke alone; Hans was already gone—or never even came back—much to Henry’s relief. None of that soothed his achy body, stiff from sleeping in the clothes he worse the previous day and, well, the previous day. It took all his effort to sit up and start peeling off layers, a maid had kindly left a clean pile of clothes for him to wear, and a pot of water keeping warm near the hearth.
The only thing that got him out of bed was the thought of cleaning all the dirt and grime off his face with that blessedly hot water.
Reality came crashing down, however, when his ablutions and dressing were complete. He had to go on a hunt. With Hans Capon. And they had to talk.
He would rather do literally anything else. Except…his father was right, the people needed them as there was no way they would be able to leave Rattay any time soon. They had brought so many more mouths to feed, he should take responsibility for helping to feed them.
So he strapped his sword to his waist and found where he had dumped everything he had managed to pack before they fled to find his bow and arrows, and left the safety of Pirkstein to face his foe.
Hans was waiting for him in the upper castle stables, Atheon tacked up and ready to go. He didn’t see another horse.
“So, which horse will I be riding?”
“Don’t you have your own?”
Henry gawked. “You’re joking, right? Pebbles rode overnight from Skalitz yesterday. There’s no way I’m taking her out before she’s properly rested.”
“Fine,” Hans groaned massaging his forehead with one hand and waving down a stablehand with the other. “You there tack up a horse and bring it here.” The stablehand bowed and hurried to complete his task. Hans turned back to Henry. “Happy?”
Henry grit his teeth. “Perfectly.”
They stood, watching each other in silence, as the stablehand worked to get Henry a horse to ride. The tension between thick enough to cut with a knife.
“Here you are, sir,” the stablehand stuttered with a bow, handing Henry the reins to a horse. The man had done nothing wrong so he turned and thanked him properly before mounting the chestnut mare and clicking her into a trot. Not even waiting to see if Hans was following.
He didn’t need to, not a moment later Hans was cantering in front of him, taking the lead with a roll of his eyes and a jab of, “Do you even know where you are going?”
“I’m going hunting, oh so glorious Lord Capon. I hardly think it’s hard to find places to hunt game around here.”
Henry expected another jab in return, there was, after all, a recipe to how their exchanges usually transpired, but it never came. He glanced up at Hans, to find him deep in contemplation and not even looking in Henry’s direction.
“I wanted to apologise, Hal. For pushing you last night. I… I heard a bit of what happened at the tavern and I can’t even what that was like for you. Was Sigismund really there?”
“Aye, he was. And what felt like thousands of others. Cumans they’re called. Barbarians more like—”
“Come on,” Hans cut him off. “I have a secluded little camp up in the Talmberg woods. There’s plenty of game around, but more importantly, privacy.”
Relief flooded Henry’s chest and he nodded, spurring his mare on to match pace with Atheon. It was already going to be a long day without trying to talk about Skalitz on horseback.
Of course what Hans counts as ‘little’ is a camp with its own dedicated area to hitch horses, with a built in water trough. The camp itself even had a separate fire pit with logs for sitting on and lean-tos for a sleeping area. It also had a rack and a pit for offal, far enough away form the main area that it wouldn’t pose them any problems.
The camp would be a poacher’s dream, but apparently mundane to a lord.
“Come on, Hal, sit down. I have some wine we can share.”
To say that Hans’ change in demeanour was off putting was an understatement. What had he been told at the tavern last night that made him first, apologise, and then start treating him with respect?
He accepted the wineskin with fervour, gulping down the wine like a man parched.
“Would you tell me about it?” Hans said at last. “Skalitz.”
Henry eyed him warily. “What would you like to know?”
“What actually happened?” Hans voice was soft, kind—tentative, but respectful at the same time.
Henry took a deep breath, unsure where to even begin. “They attacked out of nowhere. One moment its a beautiful, quiet spring day. The next they overtook the horizon. Just a mass of men and horses. Then the trumpets sounded, the arrows rained down and” — his voice choked — “they had no chance. Any of them. We were overrun immediately. So many died before I even got out to the courtyard, and we could do nothing to stop it.
“Father stopped me from going out. I thought I could hold some of them back, try to let more of our people reach the castle before we had to raise the drawbridge, but he stopped me.”
“Good,” Hans said simply. “That would have been suicide, Henry.”
“I know. I do. But I’ve never felt so helpless before. Watching as they were mown down by barbarians with no sanctity for life.
“I’m their lord, Hans, I’m supposed to protect them and there was nothing I could do put take pot-shots at looters from the safety of my castle walls. Only to have to stop doing even that because they were getting ready to siege us.”
“Henry, stop!” Hans ordered, scooting himself over to the log Henry was sitting on and put an hand on his shoulder. “There was nothing you could have done. I know that now. Everyone knows that.”
“But I should have, Hans. They needed us, and we did nothing!”
Hans flicked his temple. “You didn’t do nothing! You got who you could out, guiding them for miles in the dead of night in the worst storm in years to safety.” Hans reached out to where Henry’s hand was fisted in his hose, covering and squeezing it. “You’ve done your part, now let us take up some of the slack. We’ll get through this. Together.”
Henry nodded and, taking a chance, rested his head on his friend’s shoulder. Hans turned to embrace him fully. He hooked his chin over Henry’s shoulder and laughed disparagingly. “God, I’ve been such an arse, Henry. How do you even put up with me.”
Henry laughed in return. “I think we proved yesterday that I don’t.” He blushed, thankful that Hans couldn’t see it. “Sorry about that, by the way.”
Hans pushed them apart. “Shut up! You don’t get to apologise for punching me for being an arse when I specifically remember telling you to punch me for being an arse.” He stood, brushed himself off and held out a hand for Henry. “Right, we should get to it then.”
Henry blinked at the offered palm. “Get to what?”
“Hunting! We can’t go back empty-handed now, can we?”
Henry snorted. “I don’t think that was the point of this exercise, Hans.”
Hans stuck out his tongue. “Just think about how impressed uncle and your father will be if we come back having made up and with enough meat to feed the refugees for a week.”
With Hans’ enthusiasm, Henry couldn’t help but laugh and shaking his head ask, “What do you have in mind?” He took the hand outstretched for him.
“There’s a good hunting spot for boars around here. We’ll bring back a feast!”
Boars, as it turned out, were hunted with spears. So when Hans lands an arrow in the side of one, it’s barely even stunned, stumbling for a single hopeful moment before getting up again and squealing to high heaven and setting off to God knows where.
“Come on, Henry, we can still catch it!” Hans shouted as he mounted Atheon and rode after the beast.
Henry’s mare was nowhere to be seen.
He cursed, she had probably been spooked when the boar started squealing. He whistled, like he did to call Pebbles, but only got a distant whinnying in response.
There was no way he was going to be able to catch up with Hans on foot, so all he could do was follow the soft brays until they were loud enough start hurting his ears once more and hope he’d be able to follow Hans’ trail afterwards.
“Hey girl. It’s okay. You’re okay. Shush. Shush. That’s it,” he murmured, gently petting her neck once she had calmed down enough to let him near. “You’re okay. Goo girl.” He continued his petting even after the mare had calmed completely, waiting until her breaths had evened out before trying to mount her. “Let’s go and find that infuriating knight, shall we?”
Contrary to Henry’s fears, Hans’ trail was easy to follow, but slow going. Atheon had ploughed through the woods, leaving a mess of broken twigs and trampled bushes, that he was afraid to ride too quickly over with his skittish mount. Which is probably why he was able to hear the screaming from so far away.
“Alright, I admit it. It’s humiliating to get caught by ***three loose turds!***”
Fuck. That was Hans alright. What was he talking about, being caught?
Henry dismounted, making sure to firmly hitch his mare to a nearby branch and went the rest of the way on foot.
“You! Yeah you! Fuck you’re ugly.”
Was Hans deliberately trying to rile his captors up? Christ’s wounds, could they not go a single day without his nonsen—
Henry found the camp, and almost fell to the floor as a wave of nausea came over him.
Fuck.
Hans wasn’t just captured by bandits, he was captured by Cumans. Henry would be seeing those intricate masks in his nightmares until Judgement Day.
Hans started off on another tirade and Henry retreated. They seemed to understand they had a high value prisoner, so they wouldn’t kill Hans if they didn’t have to. He just had to figure out how to get him out.
Henry hid behind a tree, carefully observing their movements. One of them liked to walk around the camp, checkin on things that didn’t need to be checked on, inspecting their food and whatnot. The other seemed allergic to any work, he either sat by the fire, or stood against a tree to the far reaches of the camp.
If Henry could put an arrow through that one’s skull, he could easily defeat a Cuman one on one. He just needed to find the right approach.
Then, he found it, a tree with a direct line onto where he liked to stand so he could defend himself from any return stops.
He nocks an arrow
Draws his bow.
Aims.
And lets loose.
It hits exactly where he was hoping for. Straight through the man’s throat. His final cried are muted garbled nonsense, not even loud enough to draw the attention of his partner, which gave Henry time to figure out what to do with the other one.
The other soldier was wearing his armour, including a helmet with a gorget that would stop any arrow he could throw at it. So the ranged approach would be useless—melee it was then. They had killed Hans’ hunting dogs, and his own were resting back in Rattay, so he couldn’t use them as a distraction.
Henry took a deep breath—a one-on-one fight was the only thing for it—drew his sword and stepped into the camp.
“Hey, goatsucker.” That sure got the Cuman’s attention, thank you Theresa for teaching him that particular piece of colourful language.
“Henry?” Hans shouted, almost confused, but hopeful at the same time. “Ha! You see that, you bastard. Henry’s going to kick your arse, you fucker.” Henry couldn’t look over to him, lest the Cuman catch him by surprise, but he could hear the smile in Hans’ voice.
The Cuman charged, screaming at the top of his lungs in their strange language. Henry sidestepped the initial swing, and brought his sword around to parry the follow through. The force behind the blow was far greater than any he had parried in training, and almost caused him to stumble.
It was then he realised, that he had never been in a fight before. Not a real one, where his opponent wouldn’t pull his blow if Henry made a mistake, where they weren’t dulling with wooden or blunted swords. This was real, and he either killed this man or he would be killed himself.
The thought lit up his entire being, he became hyperaware of everything that was going on around him, how the man moved, whether it was similar to Bernard, to Hans, to his Father, and how best to move to counter it. The world faded away, as though there was nothing else but him, and this Cuman invader.
Henry dug his heels in, the Cuman’s blows were strong, but reckless, much like Jan Posey’s tended to be. It made the the appearance of a skilled warrior, but with a bit of patience, it made them easier to beat. He took his time, measuring himself against his attacker, understanding his ebbs and flows, how many hits he could land before having to pull back and recuperate, whether he favoured the left or the right side, how fast he was at dodging. Then, he moved—attacking swiftly like his teachers had always impressed upon him.
He stepped into the Cuman, making sure he had to tangle their swords together, or, be knocked over, then pressed forward still, knocking him off balance and swinging the hilt of his sword into the man’s temple. He wasn’t wearing full plate, but he did have a mail hauberk on that made it hard to pierce with his sword, so Henry’s best course of action would be to knock his helmet off and stab him in the throat. Which would be so much easier if he had a mace.
Instead, he had to make do with skill, or at least repeated pommel strikes until he got the angle just right and sent the helmet clattering to the floor.
The Cuman was incensed, snarling, shouting words that could only be curses, redoubling his efforts even with all the recklessness that came with them. The end of the fight almost felt anti-climactic compared to the work that he put in leading up to it. The Cuman was so angry he either didn’t see, or didn’t care how Henry was holding his sword. He just swung blindly, right into Henry’s waiting stance. A knock to the left was all it took for Henry to line his blade up with the man’s throat and a step forward was all it took to pierce that throat.
It was almost comical how easy it was to kill someone.
The man gargled, suffocating on his own blood as Henry gently lowered him to the floor, one small act go mercy his lot didn’t deserve. He barely remembered to remove his sword from the man’s throat before he was rushing to Hans’ side to release him.
“Henry!” Hans exclaimed as his wrists finally came free. “Am I glad to see you!” His friend barrelled into him with a crushing hug he was all to happy to return. “I thought you would have left me,” Hans whispered into his ear.
Wait— “What?”
Henry pushed Hans away just enough so they could look at each other. Where on Earth did this idiot get the idea that he would just leave him.
Hans didn’t look at him, staring instead at the dead man in the centre of the camp. “I just thought, I’d be too much of a hassle is all. They weren’t going to kill me, they probably realised they could get a hefty ransom, it…would have made sense for you to go back to Rattay and muster some men.”
“Never,” he replied immediately.
Then Hans looked at him, blue eyes wide, his jaw slack. “What?” he gasped, barely audible.
All these years and this stupid man still thought Henry would abandon him. “I would never leave you. I’m never running again, especially not from you.”
“Hal…”
“I mean it Hans,” Henry interrupted. “I will never leave you.”
Tears welled in Hans’ eyes. “I… it hit me last night that you probably hated me. That you should hate me. Some of the townsfolk were buying refugees drinks if they told them what happened in Skalitz. Hal, I could barely stomach it. And I accused you of running away from a fight… I would have drunk myself to death, and deserved it, if uncle hadn’t had me taken back to the upper castle for the night. I was so sure you hated me.”
Henry laughed and pulled Hans into another hug. “Only for the first two weeks we knew each other” — he pulled back and raised a brow in jest — “but my parents had just died, and you spent the entire time running around saying I was going to give you the plague, so I feel quite justified in that.”
Hans blushed a beautiful crimson. “Christ! Don’t remind me. I can’t believe you remember that,” he said burying his head in his hands.
Let it be known, Henry Kobyla was never one to give up the chance to tease Hans Capon of Pirkstein. “Just like I remember you tearing apart my favourite book.”
“You destroyed my favourite bow!”
“Only afterwards!”
Hans surged forwards, hands braced on either side of Henry’s face, pulling Henry to meet him halfway as he placed a desperate kiss on his lips.
The world stood still, and once his mind caught up with what was happening, Henry moaned, deepening the kiss—running his tongue across Hans’ lips, demanding entry. Taking and taking until Henry could see nothing but Hans, hear nothing but Hans, taste nothing but Hans.
It was everything he’d wanted and more.
Warmth burned in his chest, settling over him like a warm blanket. Henry would be content to stay there forever and it would still not be enough.
Then Hans pulled away, fear etched into his face. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know what I— I’m sorry.” He made to move away completely, but Henry caught his arm in a firm grip, pulling him back in and kissing him just as deeply again.
“I’m not,” Henry whispered against Hans lips when they finally broke apart.
It was like a dam burst. Desperation and years of repressed yearning took hold and wouldn’t let go. Henry stumbled backwards as Hans launched himself at him again, taking them both to the forest floor, but never once breaking their kiss.
Hans settled between Henry’s legs one hand balancing himself over Henry, there other reaching down to free himself from his braies. The moan Has let out as his fingers grasped his cock went straight to Henry’s dick, tenting his braies. He moaned in reply, desperately thrusting up to meet Hans, trying to find any and all contact he could.
Pleas tumbled out of his mouth as he tried to pull Hans down, so he could rut against him for that much-needed release. He needed Hans. On him, in him, he didn’t care, but he needed this to be real, convince him that he wasn’t dreaming.
The keen he let out when Hans finally wrapped his hand around both their cocks and thrusted was alien even to his own ears. Who knew he could make such a sound when pushed to his very limit.
Hans stilled above him, waiting for Henry to look at him before kissing him once more. “Shush, Hal, I’ve got you,” he whispered, resting their foreheads together and setting a steady pace.
Then, he stopped—collapsing forward with a groan, and not one of pleasure.
“I can’t…my head…” Hans moaned as Henry sat them up, hand coming up immediately to feel for an injury. He found it, an almighty lump on the top of Hans’ head that made Hans flinch when he even came near it.
“What happened.”
“I fell, hit my head.”
Henry nodded, pressing a kiss to Hans’ temple. “I did wonder how they managed to capture you. You’re too good a fighter, for those simpletons.”
Henry tucked them both back into their braies as he got them both up, letting Hans lean on him as much as he needed.
“I’m sorry, Hal…” Hans whispered into his shoulder.
“Don’t be. You can’t think I would risk hurting you just for some pleasure? Anyway, just think about how much better this will be back in our room, in a proper bed.”
Hans grinned, wincing slightly as the moment pained his head. “Our room?”
“Aye, our room.”
Hans kissed him. “I do like the sound of that.”