Uncle Hanush returned to camp much later that day. The sky had taken on that look of being hollowed out near the top, as if the blazing sun were lighting the way to Heaven, and the midges were out in such great force that the air above the river that went through the village appeared to have a cloud hovering over it.
Sir Hans set up the chess pieces. "Care for a match?"
Uncle huffed and harrumphed, but he sat with Hans nonetheless. "This will end in disaster," he grumbled, and he took up a red man-at-arms and moved it forward.
"Things not up to snuff in the other encampments?" Hans, ever in deference to Uncle when it counted, moved his black man-at-arms.
"'The other encampments'?" Uncle made a face. "We're no better off over here, so don't get too big for your britches." Then he chuckled good-naturedly. "No, you'll have to whip these yokels into shape."
"They're not all yokels," Hans countered. "We have the town guard."
"Bah. Half of them have never seen a real battle." He knocked one of his nephew's men-at-arms aside.
"Will we fight, then?" Hans asked. He took a knight up in his long, slender fingers and moved it behind Uncle's ranks.
"Who's to say?" He frowned at the board while he thought. "There's been little movement in the castle, and hardly any noise." He nudged one of his warders forward.
"Right. So I suppose we simply wait until the rats are too starved or bored to stay holed up." The knight sallied forth.
Uncle cracked a smile as the little piece was knocked out by a mere man-at-arms of his. "No, my boy, we're planning something extraordinary." There was a dastardly gleam in his eyes. "You're really going to enjoy this one."
Sir Hans beamed at him, and his hand made the next move of its own accord. "What is it?"
Uncle Hanush rubbed his paws together. "No, no, I shall leave it a surprise!"
He took out Hans' king very easily after that, but the young lord didn't mind. He'd caught sight, from the corner of his eye, of Henry lumbering into camp. By this time, the sun was beginning to descend, and it was time for an evening meal. Sir Hans jumped up, thanked Uncle for the game, and hurried along to the long table to snag a seat next to his most loyal friend.
The pottage was a pale, rosy colour. It seemed Oats had found some beets.
Henry hummed. "Or that roe-barb stuff. That would be a nice treat, Sir, wouldn't it?"
"Do you mean rhubarb?" asked Hans.
"What?" Hal wrinkled his nose and grinned. "Don't be silly, they don't have thorns."
"What?"
They stared at each other in bewilderment.
"Rue?" Henry ventured. "It doesn't have thorns, Sir."
"Regardless," said Hans, flapping his hands in frustration. "There's no way Oats could get us rhubarb. For one thing, it's far too costly, and for another, there's a war going on."
"Aye," Henry said as he carted a spoonful of the odd-coloured stew into his mouth. He nodded sagely while he chewed. "And supposedly the war has made all the alehouses run dry." He raised an eyebrow meaningfully. "Never mind that there's folk getting drunk in every village."
"No luck in your many tasks, then?"
Hal shook his head, causing the young lord to sigh heavily.
"That's a shame. I could do with an ale right now." Then he brightened somewhat. "I think Uncle Hanush wants me to command our unit."
"What– really?" Henry smiled dopily at him. "Even with your injury? That's great news!"
The mere mention of the wound made Lord Capon's blood run hot. He tried to push the memory of the morning away. "I think that's what he meant anyway," he charged on. "When he told me I need to whip all these yo– " he cast a quick look around. "Er, the men... into shape."
"Well, so long as you don't take an actual whip to me, I'll stand by you," Henry chortled, causing Hans to become all the more flustered. Henry's laughter quietened into an easy grin. "I'll get you the ale, my Lord. I know someone who owes me."
"Christ, Henry, is everyone in the area indebted to you?" Hans teased, but he already knew the answer was 'yes'.
They went to bed early. Hal had another long day of riding and had insisted Hans needed to rest, to promote healing, he'd said. He'd offered to take another look at the injury, but the noble had quickly shot that down, saying something about Uncle occupying the tent, and he promised to use the healing tincture just as Henry instructed.
an addition to the last chapter i posted (medium-normal spicy)
Hans stumbled to his bed and got a grip on himself, so to speak. He tried to think about Klara dancing around and around in her wet shift, but his mind's eye kept drifting to Henry, as he'd been, sitting next to him in the tub with his broad, glistening chest jiggling up and down with laughter.
He stroked himself faster and willed his mind to go to Zdenya, bent over in front of him and moaning filthily as she took him. He thought about her pretty head bobbing up and down while she had his cock in her mouth.
Just when he crested the climax, his mind showed him, unbidden, the view he'd just had of Henry, on his knees, his chin tilted down like he was poised to part his lips and swallow it, and his big, blue eyes turned upward and gleaming in the warm half-light under the tent.
He did not push the image away; it felt sinfully good.
When he regained his senses, utterly spent and his legs feeling weak, he found he had quite the extraordinary mess to clean up.
"I'd better get started," Henry grumbled, rising from his chair. "Before anyone tasks me with anything else."
"Where are you going first?" asked Sir Hans.
"I suppose I'll start with the charcoal burners. I know one who's sure to do what I tell him to."
"Very well." The young noble rose slowly from his seat and winced as he put his weight on his injured leg. "And then you'd best make haste to Sasau."
Hal stopped before he could reach the tent-flap. "Let me look at that wound."
Sir Hans felt like he'd caught his voice in his throat and shook his head quickly from side to side. "No, no," he managed to say. "You hav- have to hurry."
"We won't have a physician for a while yet." Henry placed both of his broad hands on Hans' shoulders and stopped him where he stood with a pleading look. "Hans. What if it gets infected while I'm gone?"
Colour rose to his cheeks. "I can't have you taking a close look at my arse, you dolt."
"Oh come off it," Henry huffed and let go of his Lord's shoulders. "It's nothing I haven't seen before, is it?"
"Ugh, fine!" Hans trudged gingerly to the tent-flap and pulled it just a tad to the side and barked at the nearest man-at-arms. "You there, stand guard! No one is to enter this tent until I say so."
A soul-crushing moment later, Lord Capon was bent over the table with his braies around his ankles. His face and ears were burning hot and he was sure he would die from embarrassment. It was made all the worse when Henry got to his knees behind him and placed a warm hand on his sore cheek, the thumb fitting neatly into the divot where Hans' arse met his leg, and gently squeezed it.
"What are you doing?!" Hans hissed.
"Shh! I'm looking for signs of illness, my Lord. I've no interest in your hairy arse," Henry echoed the noble's own words from their night at the baths. Then he squeezed just a little bit harder as he lifted the soft flesh a touch.
Hans felt an all too familiar twitch. It put the fear of God in him.
"That looks good," Henry murmured and let go. "I'll give you an ointment to keep it clean and bandage you up."
"I can bandage it myself," Sir Hans choked out and made to move.
"Stay," Henry commanded him and, now back on his feet, put a hand on his shoulder and the other on his waist.
Hal's thumb dug deliciously into the noble's hip, and he felt that twinge in his nether regions again. His heart throbbed painfully in his chest.
"I have everything I need right here. Let me do this for you."
Hans was excruciatingly aware of his surroundings; he felt the hot grip on his shoulder glide down and away, heard the soft creak of leather as Henry searched his pouch.
"This may sting a bit," came the deep, quiet voice behind him, close enough that he felt his breath. He fell to a knee again and ever so gently dabbed at the wound with a herbal tincture which sent a shock of a cool sensation through Hans' leg.
"What the hell did you just do to me?" asked Hans through gritted teeth.
"What happened to trusting me with your life?" Henry shot back. "Stand still." He shuffled around to Hans' side and drew a roll of linen, shining brightly in the muted light of the tent, from his pouch.
Lord Capon shut his eyes. He felt the feather-light brush of the fabric's edge tickling his thigh. He felt Henry's strong, self-assured grip on his waist, angling him just so. He closed his eyes tighter. Felt his blood coursing through him, faster, faster, calloused fingers on his abdomen, trailing around to his hip and along his back; his head started to spin and his cock hardened again.
The hands stopped working. His cheeks burned.
When he dared to look, he saw Henry on his knees, looking bashfully up at him and then quietly getting back to his task, and stealing a glance at it.
"It does that sometimes," Hans said lamely.
"I know," answered Henry with a quiet, self-satisfied smile. He deftly secured the bandage around his master's waist and fashioned a sort of cover over the buttock with the end hanging over the thigh. "I won't be gone long— " he peered up again to catch Hans' eye — "Sir."
Hans knew Henry saw it throb.
He left without doing a squire's job of dressing his lord, almost like he knew Hans would be having a quick tug the very instant he was alone.
Sir Hans Capon sat with his chin in his hand and prodded a finger at the map in front of him, trying to calculate all the riches he could amass by imposing a levy on all the traders from here and there coming through Rattay. He might lure them in with the promise of good trade and excellent ale, then enact a toll upon their exit at the gates.
Or perhaps, by lowering the fee for merchants from, say, Kuttenberg, he could attract more traders from wealthier cities.
Suddenly realising that the scribe would be overjoyed to see him engaged in this cerebral exercise of governance, he shuddered and rolled up the map. Upon doing so, he became aware at once that Borshek stood in front of the tent, fidgeting with his fingers.
"Ah! Greetings," cried Sir Hans, putting on dignified airs. "It seems I was too absorbed in my thoughts; why did you not speak up?"
Borshek bowed courteously. "I'd never wish to intrude, Sir."
"I wouldn't worry about that. What's on your mind?"
"I couldn't help but notice, my Lord, that you seem to be in need of, um..." His fingers worked at the cuffs on his gambeson as if they were hoping to draw from the sleeves the right word. "Sport?"
Sir Hans hummed. "I'm afraid I sustained an injury in the night. Do you play chess?"
"Chess, Sir?" Borshek's eyes brightened. "My father taught me, but I haven't played since I was a boy."
"Why not? Is he too busy to play?"
Borshek's smile faltered, and Hans felt a pang of dread, and the little soldier mumbled. "Um, he died in my twelfth winter."
"I'm so sorry." Uncle would have smacked him round the head for always putting his foot in his mouth, and rightly so. "Well," he cleared his throat rather too loudly. "We shall have to play in his honour, then!"
Borshek had a slow start to the game, but when the rules came back to him, bit by bit, the little lord had to fight tooth and nail to clinch his victory. Just when the game was wrapping up with cheerful laughter and good sportsmanship, Henry came trudging through the camp. Upon seeing the two young men in such good spirits, a smile spread across his face.
"Greetings, Sir! Borshek." He nodded to each in turn.
Sir Hans felt a warm comfort that was entirely new to him, joined as he was now by not one, but two friends. "There you are, Hal! I was beginning to wonder if you'd gotten lost." He cast an apologetic look at the other man-at-arms. "I'm sure you must return to your duties, and I need a word with Henry here."
Borshek sprang up. "Yes, my Lord. Thank you again for the match; you play very well."
"As do you, my friend!"
When they were alone in the tent, Henry let down the flap and took a seat across from Hans in the warm half-light. "What game is this?" He picked up one of the little, red footmen.
"It's chess." Sir Hans thought for a moment. "I wonder where Borshek's father learnt to play it; I forgot to ask."
"Is it a difficult game?"
"Yes," Hans mused. He took up and inspected a black knight. "And it's usually reserved for," he paused and looked at Henry. "Forgive me– for the upper classes."
Henry let out a quiet chuckle and wrinkled his freckled nose. "'Forgive' you? I wouldn't have believed my ears a few weeks ago, Sir," he teased.
Hans hadn't noticed the freckles before.
"I went to the hill above the quarry like you asked."
He wondered if he had freckles on his shoulders, too.
"Your Uncle and Sir Divish aren't too keen on the way things are going right now."
He hummed absentmindedly as his eyes fell to Henry's arm on the table. His sleeve was rolled up, and Hans saw his skin was fair and even there.
"They instructed me to speak with Sir Robard for my orders." Hal sighed. "He told me to speak to the quartermaster, who'd asked him for pitch, and then the cheeky lout asked me to fetch him rivers of beer and mountains of meat while I'm at it."
"We can go hunting," chirped Hans.
"No," Henry demurred. "You need to let yourself heal." He raised his hand to his temple and rubbed it. "To make matters worse, when I went to see your Uncle, I saw Master Feyfar coming back the other way looking like he was ready to faint, so I asked him what was wrong, of course, and he's requested I fetch him some engineer in Sasau."
"Whatever for?"
"For a contraption he's building." He sighed again. "And then, as if all that wasn't more than enough, as soon as I got back here, Sir Divish asked me to find him a priest and a physician; you'd think he was dying," he groaned.
Sir Hans considered his words and thought of the dead body he'd passed in the woods. "Perhaps. Or perhaps we'll all be grateful for them later." He gazed at the chess piece still clutched in his hand. "I've no doubt the worst is yet to come."
The men were still asleep when they returned to camp. Sir Hans directed Henry towards his cot most gratefully.
"Take me to bed," he murmured, and it sounded more like a question than a command. "And whatever you do, don't wake my uncle," he whispered as they approached the large, imposing tent.
Henry simply nodded and carefully moved aside the flap. Uncle Hanush was snoring loudly enough to wake the dead.
Hans took hold of Henry's hand, and with his help, he lowered himself slowly to the mattress. As soon as he sat, Henry kneeled in front of him and undid the clasp on his boots, making his heart flutter nervously. He lifted a hand to object, but was arrested by the sight he beheld.
Henry's eyes shone in the dimness and he wore the slightest of smiles on his lips, in front of which he placed one of his fingers. Then he ever so gently removed his Lord's boots and unbuckled the garters around his hose. He put them aside most carefully before untying the fasteners on Sir Hans' gambeson. He inclined his head close and whispered in his ear: "Will you be comfortable like this?"
Hans could barely breathe. He nodded dumbly.
Henry held his gaze. "Sleep well, Sir." And he stole away like a ghost.
It was around midday. The few hours he had passed asleep had gone by quickly and dreamlessly, and presently the warmth of the day was so relentless he had no choice but to leave the tent.
Oats had made some sort of porridge with turnips and carrots. Sir Hans was busy picking the latter out when a familiar frame slid onto the bench across the table.
"Are you wishing you'd stayed home at Rattay instead of joining our nighttime venture?"
"You must be joking!" Hans laughed. "I haven't had so much fun since..." the baths? Though he'd nearly been drowned then. "A-actually, ever."
Henry snorted. "Really? Despite being wounded?" He grinned devilishly. "Actually, you missed the best part: when I was hauling you like a sack of grain to the battlements, dead to the world."
It suddenly made sense to Hans why Henry had not said anything in response to all of his babbling during the escape. He'd either been thinking it, or whimpering so badly no words could be discerned.
"It can't have been that much fun if I fell asleep!" He dug a fist into Henry's arm. "But you might have handled me a bit more gently; I'm black and blue all over."
Henry raised his hands flippantly. "Oh, alright then." A cheeky grin was plastered on his face. "Next time I'll just leave you to Istvan's tender mercies."
"Nonsense! What would you do without me?" He scooped his discarded carrots into Henry's bowl. "Still, thank you for hauling me out of there."
Henry performed an exaggerated bow of the head. "Anything for you, my Lord." He was clearly back to his mischievous self.
"Anything at all?" asked the Lord.
Henry had his mouth full of the abandoned carrots and simply shrugged his shoulders and raised his brows. Hans took it to mean 'Go ahead and ask, and we'll see'.
"Uncle has gone to meet Sir Divish just north of the castle. There's an excellent vantage point above the quarry." He jabbed his fork into a pallid turnip, and it made him think of his poor backside. "I wanted to join him but I don't think I could ride just yet."
"Sore arse?" A few of the men looked up at Henry's crass question.
Hans looked at the uncouth blacksmith's boy sternly. "I wouldn't choose those words myself, but yes." Truth be told, he had grown more at ease using such coarse language of late, but the men couldn't know that. After all, he had an image to uphold as a noble.
"I'd be happy to go and eavesdrop for you."
Hans cast a sidelong glance at the rest of the people seated at the table. "Now, now, there's no need for eavesdropping, my good friend," he laughed nervously. "I'm sure the noble Sirs would be glad to have the ear of Sir Radzig's son."
"I don't know about that, Sir," said Henry. "I'm only a bastard." He winced as Hans kicked his foot under the table.
"I am sure," repeated Hans through a tight-lipped smile, "they would be glad to see you regardless."
He hadn't had an opportunity to bring with him a book, and all he had to pass the time was a map of the surrounding area, dropped haphazardly across Uncle's desk. What was there to do in the meantime but wait?
The very instant the arrowhead moved under his touch, he felt an agony of a kind he'd never experienced before. It knocked the wind out of him and sent him tumbling to the ground with a cry.
"Henry," he called, and his voice sounded confused, desperate. He couldn't see for the torment– the night was too dark— "Henry! If you get me out of here, I'll stop telling everyone what an idiot you are."
Henry's worried face came down out of the fog. His eyes darted from Hans' face and around his powerless body.
"Argh! Look! I've got an arrow in my arse," cried Hans and tried to roll to the side. "See for yourself if you don't believe me!"
For a while, Henry crouched over him and looked into the courtyard with a scrutinising glare. People ran out of the house in which they'd been trapped and hurried away.
In his wriggling, Hans nudged the arrow again and moaned in anguish. "Ah, Henry," he tried once more with a trembling voice. "Sorry to trouble you, but could you fucking do something quick?!"
At last, Henry was satisfied the bandits were busy with trying to wrangle Divish's servants back into their prison, and he scooped Hans into his arms and tossed him rather unceremoniously over his shoulder, and he began to walk as fast as he could under the extra weight. The young noble was jostled around with every step but the arrow was thankfully fairly secure in its place, elevated as it was, and caused him very little further torture.
"This isn't very comfortable," he allowed himself to say. "Can't you stop hopping around with me? My arse is killing me!"
Henry took them around the corner towards the portcullis, hugging the wall, and one of the bandits ran past them into commotion in the courtyard without seeing them. In the light of the torches under the stair, Hans saw the ruffians arguing and gesticulating to the gate.
"Quick! They're right behind us!" Hans urged Henry. "That is, behind you." He could not reach his hunting sword in this humiliating position. "They're in front of me and I can't do anything!"
Henry turned a hard left and started climbing the stairs. He was beginning to tremble beneath Sir Hans; their retreat slowed to a shaky walk.
"Run, for Christ's sake! And don't shake me so much— " His eyes were watering by now. "If you don't get a move on, they'll stab you in the back right under my nose," he uttered through gritted teeth. He beat Henry's back with his fist for good measure.
Good, loyal, obedient Henry carried on walking wordlessly with his breath becoming heavy, and now that they were on the parapet, the going was much easier. They were moving swiftly away from the noisy mess in the bailey.
The journey down the ladder was treacherous, and with the view Hans got of it, he was sure he'd develop an acute fear of heights. More than once, they almost succumbed to their odd distribution of weight and toppled to the ground, but after what felt like an age, they were safe outside the castle.
Henry put down Hans none too gently, kicked the ladder away from the wall, and gave his Lord the briefest of warnings: "Bite down on your sleeve."
He barely had time to do as he was told before Hal gripped the shaft of the arrow and yanked it out. The noble's eyelids clamped shut and he saw blinding stars behind them as the violent pain in his cheek returned. Along with it came feeling in his leg, and he found he could struggle to his feet with Henry's help.
Hal tucked himself under Hans' arm and supported him while they scurried off into the darkness. They could still hear the faint sound of fighting when they stopped to catch their breath.
"I have to admit, we didn't do too well," said Henry.
"True, the shame of it! They drove us back before we even got anywhere." Uncle would wring his neck for this. "It's worse than if they'd killed us!"
Henry grunted. "Well. I wouldn't go that far. We had to give it a try! If we'd succeeded— "
"If pigs had wings," Hans sulked and waved a dismissive hand. The first signs of dawn were creeping up on the eastern horizon. Lord Capon gave Hal's shoulders a little squeeze. "I know it troubles you, but it's not over yet. We'll rescue the hostages and hang that bastard Istvan!"
Those sorrowful, blue eyes were on him again, and the fire in them rekindled in tandem with the rosy dawn. They made their way back to camp together, one slow, unsteady step at a time.
It was a moonless night. The men got into position with the bold Sir Hans Capon at the head. He crouched down low as they approached the castle walls and gestured for the others to do the same.
"This will be something," he whispered to Henry. "They'll be telling stories about this for years; we'll be legends!"
In his excitement to show Uncle his capabilities, Hans had forgotten that Hal's father was in peril. "Unless we fuck it up. Then Istvan will be telling the stories, and the joke will be on us."
He found a nice, flat spot below the ramparts and sent a signal to his team. Two of the men from Rattay hurried forth with a ladder between them and set it quietly as they could against the wall.
"We'll go first and take out the sentries," one of them said in hushed tones. He was skilled at jobs like these. "Wait here."
The two men scampered halfway up and then stopped. For a while, there came no sound nor movement.
"What are they waiting for?" Henry asked.
"Quiet, for fuck's sake!" Hans hissed.
"What are they waiting for?" Henry tried again, this time more quietly.
"How should I know?"
"Why do I bother asking?" Hal grumbled, and Hans had to remind himself with gritted teeth that the poor blacksmith's lad had every reason to be irritable.
"Oh, be quiet and watch that light on the battlements."
They held still. Before long, the ever impatient Sir Hans huffed under his breath: "Fuck this waiting, I'm going to climb."
Just as he stepped onto the bottom rung, the lights above them moved away, and the first two men clambered up onto the parapet. Soon enough, Hans heard Henry follow behind him, and in front, the distinct sound of the quiet sort of death that comes from a dagger to the neck. He'd caused it himself to countless deer. Never a man.
At the top, he found his two men crouched over what had just been a sentinel.
"I'll put on his armour and watch this side, but there are still two guards on the portcullis winch to deal with," one said just as Henry made it over the wall. "Any volunteers?"
Hans didn't hesitate at all. "Henry will do it."
The poor lamb that would be the offering scoffed. "Buffoon."
"Henry, then. Just make sure you keep quiet."
They dragged the lifeless body to a darker place while Hal disappeared around the corner. There was a faint glow around the wall he vanished behind, and Hans had a brief vision in which he was spotted and they were doomed.
Of course, he needn't have worried. After only a moment, the light of the torch fell towards the ground and winked out and Henry reappeared, hauling another guard.
"Psst." Henry waved Sir Hans forward.
He crept close. So close their faces were almost touching. He cocked his head to the side and raised his brows, wordlessly asking what was the matter.
Henry bent closer, his lips brushing right up against Hans' ear, sending a shiver down his spine. "I'll take him out, you check the portcullis."
It was a command, not a question. Hans had half a mind to remind him of his place, but this was not the time.
Besides, he thought. Henry made a good commander with that sort of charm and confidence.
They watched the light of the last, lone torch move closer to the stairs to the bailey, and they snuck forward together. Henry had the guard taken care of before the poor bastard had any idea what had happened, and Hans slinked into the shadow of the gatehouse and climbed up a ladder to the winch.
The bold Lord Capon was not so stupidly courageous to raise the portcullis. When he saw the large, heavy thing in front of him, he knew at once that he would doom both his squadron and the hostages should he venture to open the gate.
"We can't get this moving without being noticed," he whispered to Henry when he exited the gatehouse. They needed to stay on task. "First we have to find the hostages." Upon seeing the despair on Hal's face, he reassured him as best he could: "It'll all go a lot easier if no one sees us, and fooling around with the portcullis is bound to draw attention." He raised a steadying hand to Henry's arm. "First we have to find the hostages."
Henry looked deep into his eyes. The despair waned.
"Then we can come back to deal with the rest," Sir Hans declared.
They took the stairs one excruciating step at a time.
"Careful here." Hans deemed it best to keep talking, quietly as he could, to stop Henry's fretting. "All doors lead to the courtyard. All it takes is for one man to go for a piss and he'll see us."
He slipped behind a column opposite the stairwell and met Henry's gaze. Beside them, a torchlight flickered gently and time seemed to stretch itself wider. "Easy now. We're almost there."
Henry's face was an eyeless mask near the foot of the stone stairs by the gatehouse.
"Let's not fuck it up at the eleventh hour."
From the village below there came the sound of some animal, and Hans took this opportunity to step closer to the courtyard unheard with Henry following close behind. Ahead, the torch moved steadily away from them as the guard holding it went along on his patrol.
The two intrepid rescuers sequestered themselves into a dark corner and waited for the guard's return to the gate. At the sight of him, Henry made a move forward.
"Patience," Hans warned him, placing his arm in Henry's way. "He has to move." The guard, evidently a useless dolt, took his sweet, bloody time. "Jesus," Hans lamented under his breath. "Get a fucking move on, man!"
At long last, they had him at a safe distance and squarely within their sight. Lord Capon led the way across the courtyard to the lowly abode by the stables. Henry went swiftly past his Lord and entered without discussing a division of tasks.
Sir Hans again reminded himself why Henry was so eager to rush into this mission. He took up his post outside and kept watch. Through a small window, he heard hushed voices. One low, which he recognised as Henry's, the other more reedy. They sounded agitated.
A torch moved along the upper walkway of the courtyard. Another flickered near the stables. Hans began to feel nervous. Then it was made worse by Henry raising his voice, and Hans heard the words: "Where is she being held, and where's Sir Radzig?"
The torch on the upper walkway stopped moving.
Hans crouched low and held his breath.
Time seemed to grind to a halt.
The torch moved back the way it had come, and soon after, Henry appeared in the doorway.
"They're not here."
"Damn it all," hissed Sir Hans. "We'll have to go back empty-handed." He held Henry's fretful look. "I really thought we could pull it off."
"We're not going anywhere," came Henry's reply. "Not without my father and Lady Stephanie." His voice was louder than Hans would have liked.
"And how are we meant to find them? They're not in the stables or anywhere nearby." It was a struggle to keep his retort quiet; they were as stubborn as each other. "You want to creep right inside the palace where Toth's men are everywhere?"
"Yes!" Henry spat. "We can't leave them in Toth's hands– "
"It was hard enough getting this far, but going inside is madness. What good will it do them if we get caught?"
"Then we mustn't get caught!" Henry's assertion was sharp.
"Hal, listen," said Hans, softening his voice in a bid to convince his pigheaded companion to see sense. "I can appreciate your stubbornness. Usually." He held a hand on his friends shoulder. "But this could cost us our heads! At least we saved those other people."
"I told you." Henry wrapped his hand around Hans' wrist. "I'm not leaving here without the hostages." He wrested himself free.
"If you're determined to be a stubborn ox, go right ahead," Hans huffed. "I suppose you might as well look for your sword while you're at it, no point leaving the job half done."
"Save your speeches!" Henry put a finger right in Hans' face. "Are you going to help me or not?"
"If you want to get yourself killed, can do it alone! But before you go raising bloody mayhem give us," he gestured in the general direction of their ladder, "time to get out of here!"
Henry sulked but he objected no further.
"Come on, then," Hans sighed in relief. "Let's get the fuck out of here before they catch us."
He had no more than spoken those words when he felt a sudden pain that seemed to radiate from his very bone, right around the place where his leg met his torso, and he cried out in pain. Then, for a blessed moment, he didn't feel his leg at all. He looked over his shoulder for the source of the sensation and saw an arrow extending from his backside.
"Kurva!" He wrapped his hand around the shaft and got ready to remove the offending object. "Fuck, my arse," he groaned.
Sir Hans spoke to old Oats next. As an experiences warrior, he was sure to give the most accurate report. Besides, the little lord might get some food while they were chatting.
The report was much the same as the one he got from Bernard, and after a while, he took his bowl to the table where Henry was already eating.
The porridge was rather, some might say, unusual both in flavour and texture. Henry lifted a spoonful out of the bowl and turned it on its head. He watched it stick to the spoon for a while before falling back into the bowl in a large clump.
Sir Hans sat down and caught his eye. "Delicious, isn't it?"
"Rattay delicacy of some sort?"
"Indeed it is!" He gingerly brought a small amount up and inspected it. "It's er– thistle pottage?"
"Oh!" Henry ate some rather eagerly. "Thistle's very good for you."
"It is?"
"Aye!" He seemed to stop dead in his thoughts. "Or it'll make you fall asleep. Could go either way."
"I could do with a good night's sleep," Hans said somewhat absently. He set his bowl aside so he could fold his arms on the table and lean closer. "I heard about– about your father."
Henry's eyes fell.
"We'll get him back, Hal."
"But how? They hold the castle."
"Don't tell any of the others yet."
This brought Henry's eyes back up.
"We're going to sneak in." Hans smiled wryly. "I hope you brought some dark clothes."
"You're mad." But Henry was grinning as he said it.
"It'll be just like our boar hunt. We'll go in quietly, grab what we're after and leave."
"I trust that includes Lady Stephanie?"
"You think I'm not the kind of lord who'd rescue a damsel in need of aid?"
"Oh– no. Pardon, Sir."
Sir Hans clapped Henry on the shoulder. "I'm only yanking your pizzle, Hal. But remember, don't tell anyone yet."
"How come I get to know before everyone else?"
"Well," said Hans and shrugged a shoulder. "I trust you won't run off and tell that Toth what we're planning."
"Mhm. You trust me with your life, apparently." He looked very pleased with himself.
"It's good to see you're still humble, noble bastard."
Night fell. Sir Hans sent Henry to speak with the men from Skalitz, while he himself would try to recruit someone from Rattay.
"Just tell them we need a few good men for a quiet, little raid ready to assemble right now."
"As you wish, Sir."
"Thank you, Hal. We'll meet in the quarry."
Borshek, who was thankfully alive and well, wanted to volunteer, but Hans turned him down with an apologetic smile.
"I don't doubt you had a tough first battle this morning. You should rest." And he wasn't experienced enough, but Hans kept that to himself.
A thought of Uncle Hanush wriggled its way into the forefront of his mind. Perhaps they might understand each other more than they had believed possible just a few hours previously.
Down in the quarry, the blanket of night was lifted here and there by a few torches, and the assembled men — Hans, Henry, and about half a dozen others — stood before Captain Robard a short distance out of the light.
"If any of you are having second thoughts, this is your last chance to speak." The Captain's voice was full of the confidence and authority one only got from decades of successful command. Sir Hans watched his slow march in front of the gathered troops, his keen eye observing them, and thought him very admirable.
Sir Hans saw from his periphery that Henry looked to him, and it drew his attention in, but Hal turned his eyes away to watch the others for their reaction. Hans did the same.
None of them spoke up.
"Very well." Captain Robard's march came to a stop. "So I hope we're all clear on what has to be done. We need to free the hostages to deprive Toth of his advantage." His feet resumed their pace. "Now, he'll be keeping them somewhere where they can be guarded, but somewhere separate from his other men."
"And where would that be?" Henry, always to the point, asked. His eyes betrayed the anger within him, though he did his best to quell it.
"We always kept the hostages in the house on the bailey by the stables."
Henry put his hands on his hips. "And what if they're in their tower, or somewhere else?"
Captain Robard sighed. "Then we'll have to go to the gate and try to open it." He addressed the others and raised his voice imperiously. "But that will take time and attract attention! So we can only do it if we know exactly how things stand."
Henry's gaze fell to the ground. He kicked away a pebble. Maybe a small rebellion, knowing his temperament.
"And," the Captain added: "If they sound the alarm before we've done anything, we get out of there quick. Understood?"
Henry glanced at Hans. Then he pinned his blazing eyes on the Captain. "And leave them there?"
Robard did not take well to insolence. He stepped closer and looked darkly on the young upstart who had already endangered his life once before. "Better a couple of hostages than a pile of corpses."
Hans watched as Henry stepped down, and stepped back, visibly stunned by this revelation.
"Lord Capon."
He looked to the Captain.
"Are you quite certain you want to engage in this action?"
And leave Henry in the lurch? Never. He squared his shoulders and put on his best, most charismatic voice. "Quite!" He cast a conspiratorial grin at his friend. "After all, it can't be much different from sneaking out of the Upper Castle in Rattay and back in every night." He turned his winning smile to the Captain. "Besides." Gesturing at Henry, he said: "Who else will keep this hothead from raising bloody mayhem?"
Henry couldn't help but grin. His fists came away from his hips and he quieted his temper.
"Well, see to it that you do, my Lord." He signalled to the men that they were ready. "May God guide our footsteps!"
"Your first stop will be Kosovo. You're lucky." A dreamy light enters his eyes. "I would like to visit it myself."
"'Lucky'?" Henry wrinkles his nose. "Wasn't Kosovo captured by–" He stops abruptly when Musa shoots him a pointed look before returning the look and elaborating: "I was going to say Turks. To be quite clear."
Musa hums. "I'm sure you were."
"Musa. I know your God and mine are the same."
"I know."
They look at the table between them for a moment.
"Then where will I go?"
Musa meets Henry's eyes, his lips curling upward. "This Jan wants to go to his birthplace, Dubrovnik, and then..." He raises his hands to add a certain gravity to the next part: "Napoli."
Henry makes a face. "Let's hope they don't start fighting again while I'm there."
"Rome."
"Likewise there."
"Firenze."
"The Albizzis had better not try anything."
"Must you always do this, Henry?"
The accused looks quizzical. "What do you mean?"
Musa sighs. "You are just now finding out that you will visit many sites that have been exceptionally important to your culture, and all you can think to do is complain?"
"I'm not complaining," says Henry, and he clearly thinks he means it.
Musa stares at him silently for a moment. "Anyway," he finally goes on. "From there you will go to Milan– "
"That shouldn't be too bad."
" – before finally reaching the Cantons."
"How bloody long is this expedition?"
"Hal. N kanuntee. This is the fastest way for you to get home."
Henry frowns at him. "I thought we were home here."
"You know that's not true."
Henry does know. He just would rather die than admit it. So he changes the subject: "Maybe I'll run into that ginger cunt on the way."
"Have you still not– "
"Not what, Musa?" Henry's face sours. "Forgiven him for taking away my home, my parents and my– " and he falters. His attention sinks into the bottom of his goblet.
"Henry." Musa's voice is ever so gentle. Musa, who is always soothing and calm, places a hand on top of Henry's. "You must allow yourself to heal. For your own sake."
Hal shakes his head, blinking away tears.
"For his sake, then."
He considers this. Then he lets his teardrops fall as he nods. "For his sake."
They part ways late in the evening, and Henry takes this moment to pray, in his own manner. He goes to Agia Sofia and stares wistfully at the doors. After a while, a monk appears, and Henry asks him to let him enter, just for a brief moment.
"Parakalo," he pleads when the monk hesitates. He is granted entry.
He kneels before the altar and begs the Virgin to protect him on his travels. Then he looks up at the apse into Her face. Something long hidden stirs within him when he slips off his ring and relinquishes it in offering.
In the morning, Henry accompanies Musa to the docks. The latter starts to board, then remembers he never told the former when or where to meet his employer. He shouts it across the water, and Henry is so distracted by his haste that he forgets the pain of farewells right until it's evening and the caravan settles in a tavern.
He is alone in his room. He sits on his bed with a tattered journal in his lap. It's been so long since the last entry, that when he opens it, it falls onto a page from the feast of St. Severinus, 1421.
I knew that order was from Žižka. Who else would order that many handgonnes? I should have refused. Now we're surrounded by Sigismund's men, and I'm in the middle of it again. But Kuby says he has an idea. Some inspiration from our misadventure in Raborsch.
He chuckles mirthlessly. He turns the page to see the entry for the feast of St. Hunger.
It worked! The Lord be praised, it worked, and we're alive! The ginger fox has had to retreat for now. We'll see if this war wagon of Kubyenka's works a second time. The madman had us take up handgonnes and charge on top of the carts. Kuby's still the best shot, though he'd have stiff competition if the Devil was still with us.
I wish more than anything that Hans was with us, too. He would have ridden that chariot of death with me, I know it. It's like he always said: audentes Fortuna iuvat!
A drop of sorrow falls onto the page and Henry has to move the journal lest his tears should join with the ink and spread its dark pigment over the memory. He cries freely. After all, he is alone.
When he's wrung the last of his sadness out, he takes up his quill and writes on the first blank leaf:
The feast of St. Chromatius 1436. It is 17 years today since you left me, Hans. You called your slow departure from this world the Discessus. I think Godwin, despite himself, would have been horrified at our blasphemy, but I observe the Discessus every year, even as everyone around me is celebrating Adventus.
I would further shock Father Godwin by adding to it. I steal here the words of the Saint whom I should be venerating today, and I alter them, but I swear before God my intention is true.
You are the light of the world. You dispelled the darkness from my heart, and I have been enlightened by you. For once I was darkness, but now I am light in my Lord. Your love is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. Though you are no longer here, Hans, you still guide my way, for a city set on a hill cannot be hidden. I am on my way home to Rattay.
By the way, I gave your ring to the church in Constantinople. Sorry. I thought you would have wanted to see it.
He lies down to sleep under the weight of the world.
He sits and gazes at the wall without really seeing it. The small tiles are arranged in an intricate pattern so dazzling that he's entranced. It lets him vanish into a world that exists now only inside him.
He is pulled out of his thoughts when a man sits next to him.
"I saama, Musa," he says, rubbing at his face in an effort to bring himself back into this world, the real one, quicker.
Musa laughs softly. "I tinyang, n kanuntee. It is past noon."
Henry shakes his head morosely. "I don't know if I'll ever know your language properly. I'm no good at learning."
"You're excellent at learning," Musa corrects him. "You've learnt both Latin and Greek since we came here."
"Perhaps if you spoke to me in your native tongue rather than mine," Henry starts, but Musa cuts him off.
"Henry." His smile falls somewhat. "I heard of a job that might be in your interest."
Henry studies him closely before he asks for more details.
"He is a monk who speaks a little bit of your language. He needs the assistance of a skilled mercenary for a journey, and... I assured him he would have the very best protection."
"How far are we going?"
"Not I, n kanuntee." Musa looks at him sadly. "You are going to escort him to Basel."
"You're not coming with me?" Henry feels within him a pain that has hounded him for the last three and twenty years.
"I wish to see my home again, my friend."
"Musa, I don't understand."
"Perhaps when you get to Sisgau, you will." He is looking at the ground now, crestfallen. "I have found passage on a ship. I leave in the morning."
"Where will you go?"
Tell me everything, Henry thinks to himself. Where will you go, and what will you see? Teach me everything there is to know in this world before you leave me.
"First, I will go to Athens." Musa looks up with a new glimmer in his eyes. "I will walk where the great philosophers walked."
Henry unhooks the clasp on the chain around his neck. It has been with him since Suchdol; he stole it off a dead Praguer as a token of victory. "Will you take this to the temple of Athena for me?"
Musa feigns a scandalised gasp. "Henry! Your religion forbids false idols." And he laughs.
Henry looks at him with an old, impish glint in his eyes. "Ah, I'm sure I'll be forgiven after a few Ave Marias." He hands the chain over. "Where next?"
"The Kingdom of Candia."
"Where's that to?" Two little crinkles form between Henry's knitted brows. Musa likes this look he gets on his face whenever he's trying to understand something he does not know.
"It is a large island ruled by the Venetians. I hear it is a true wonder, and the best place for traders."
The wrinkle between his brows dissipates. "Ah." He nods. "You're going there to find another ship."
"That I am, my erudite friend. From there, I will go to Alexandria." He speaks the name with reverence. "Then I will have to journey on land."
Henry's expression softens. His eyes begin to sting. "I wish you safe travels."
Musa sends him a comforting smile. "It is not morning yet, n kanuntee. Do you not wish to know where you are going?"
Henry shrugs. "I'm sure I'll find out."
Musa laughs heartily. "Yes, I'm sure you will, but I could tell you over a carafe or three of wine."
The wine here is much better than anything in Bohemia. It would be a shame to forgo this final opportunity to enjoy it with a friend.
"I should tell Teresa," Henry muses.
Yes, he found the company of a woman named Teresa, though this one isn't quite so fiery as his Tess from the mill. She is, however, a widow, so they don't need to sneak around quite as carefully as he'd had to do with Tess when they were young.
"I thought you were only passing the time with each other."
"Well, aye, but– " Henry's cheeks grow pink. "But I'm sure she'll want to know."
She doesn't react much. She even refuses his offer of something — anything — to remember him by. Henry doesn't know if he's disappointed or not.
They go to their favourite taverna, in a part of the once great city that is now beginning to crumble. The drinks are still good and the prices are lower.
Musa raises his goblet to Henry's, who taps it very gently. Down here, the fine folk drink from cups made of precious stones, and the proprietor of the taverna had managed to acquire some when a nearby grand villa fell into dereliction.
"Tell me then," says Henry. "Where will I be going?"
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