All the World (Hand in Hand Chronicles)

Chapter 5: " For now my lord the king regards me not"

It is immediately terrible.
The practice grounds are completely cleared off. It's just me, Edward, and the fifty thousand people that came with the king to watch his only son beat up a French boy. Don't any of these people have lives? Pursuits of their own? Cares? Noooooo the only thing they have to do on a lovely sunny morning is watch my greatest humiliation to date.
Jean is here as well but he's excused, he has to be here to hand me my sword.
Edward is dressed stiffly in his sparring clothes that he doesn't ever wear because this is probably the second time he's been here voluntarily. That's cruel he's definitely had sword lessons all his life. But I'm in a cruel mood.
"What are all these people DOING here?" I snarl, as we approach each other.
"They enjoy seeing me in crisis, at least that's all I've figured, thank you so much," he says, embracing me quickly. This time I react better, simply allowing him to tug me to himself. That's a mistake, because no sooner is the hug over than he's kissed me on the lips. A typical if affectionate greeting that leaves stars dancing in my head and my chest weirdly tight as though I forgot how to breath.
"Thank you," Edward says, but I feel like I should be thanking him.
"Yes," I say, which doesn't make sense at all I'm aware of that now and also at the time but that's all that leaves my mouth when I can still feel his lips on mine.
Richmond is one of the fifteen hundred thousand people watching and at this point I hear him groan audibly. He's near my end, that's why I hear it. This seems to be typical behavior for him because nobody notes him.
And so we set down to sparring.
Edward comes at me with reasonably clean cuts, I can of course block them I'm the smaller and faster opponent, and I can't give away that I'm not trying to win. So I block him three times then pull my sword back on the fourth, letting him smack me in the middle of my back.
"All right?" Edward mutters. He knows his strength and it is that of a giant, he's nearly taller than his father and he apparently does manual labor for fun.
"Acting," I mutter, straightening back up.
We're back at it again. I attack rapidly, forcing him to defend, and knock his leg lightly before allowing him get another blow on my ribs.
"Do not pause and help me up," I hiss.
"Why, are you going to fall?" He asks.
The next time he hits me I go down completely. He naturally ignores what I just said, and pulls me to my feet no sooner than I collapsed.
"The fuck did I just say?" I hiss.
"I'm not compromising who I am, not for them," he says, releasing my arm.
The match is done, feels like quicker than it started. I concede that I lost and go back to Jean. Edward drifts to go talk to his father. He looks at me in annoyance, like he expected I'd follow him. I shrug. That's not my arena, or my people. Last night proved that well enough.
I take off my padding and plan to go ride. I've not been out on my mare yet today and I could use to clear my head. That was a job well done but it's over. I'm sure that the king will want to quiz Edward on it and I can't realistically just be about.
No sooner have I changed into riding boots than I get a summons from Lord Edward, to his rooms. His private chambers. I assume that's where I burst in on him the first day and threw all his armor at his head. I am surprised I'm still alive.
I go, without bothering to change again he might just want me to take a message or something? Or he's just arranging to spar again tomorrow that too.
His private chambers do turn out to be the ones I'd barged into. This time there's the same number of greyhounds lounging about, but also a lion on a leash. So that's odd. There's a keeper for it though so I'm not too concerned.
Edward is sprawling on the cushions when I am announced. At the sight of me though he bounds to his feet, nearly tackling me to snatch me in his arms.
"It worked brilliantly! He thought I did well he never thinks that! But where did you go?" Edward asks.
"Ah—was going to go riding," I say.
"Oh yes that's a good idea let's!" He says, cheerfully. His curls are damp as though he's bathed and he's in a clean tunic since our little duel, "Then you're coming to supper again, aren't you?"
"Ah—if you want," it didn't actually go that well.
"Of course you are. Excellent idea let's go riding, then we'll go visit the greyhounds I have to do that today as well, and then tomorrow I want to show you my camel," he says.
"Aren't those poisonous?" I ask.
"No! They're not poisonous. It's friendly it likes me. It'll like you as well," he says, swinging an arm around my shoulders.
And that is how we became, well, we.
Within a few short weeks my schedule has become entirely subject to Edward's. I will get up and spar before he is up, certainly, but after that I am entirely at his disposal. It starts with him having to ask for me. It ends with me simply making my way up to his rooms assuming he'd want me for something. And the answer was always yes. Yes he did want me but not ever for anything in particular.
Somedays we'd go riding. Sometimes he'd be listening to music and want me to sit with him. Sometimes he had actual appointments or duties or meetings with his accountants and he'd bring me for those too. I didn't know I was becoming a royal companion, or that that was something somebody like me could become.
But I am shocked to find I am enjoying myself.
Edward's company is pleasant, calming almost. I am never half so angry, around him. He'll swing a heavy arm over my shoulders. If he'd not seen me all day he'd instantly pull me into a hug, kissing both my cheeks. He had no care for requesting me, or asking my opinion if it was on a subject on which I knew little. Eventually, he'd coax out of me stories of my childhood in Gascony, tales of old jousts though those did worry him. More often than not I was at his table, luncheon and supper.
And I make the mistake of casually mentioning I've been neglecting my sister of late, and I wake the next day to find people moving our rooms.
No longer in the servants wing. We are moved into the main hall, not near the nobility but a damn site closer. Aimee and I each have our own room, and mysteriously stocked wardrobe.
"I've never seen a bed this big," Aimee laughs, flopping back down onto the feather mattress.
"Nor shall you again, best sleep the rest of summer eh?" I laugh, falling down onto it as well.
"Does father know we're getting to stay here?" She asks, softly.
"I wrote and said Lord Edward was fond of me," I say. I didn't say the truth. I don't know what the truth is. That he's generous? And kind to me? That despite, me being me, he counts me as a friend? It doesn't really account for our new lodging, and new wardrobes, though in all honesty that's all it is.  I've somehow against the odds found a place at court. And I'm filling it.
"You're happy aren't you?" She asks, looking at me, "You wouldn't be—mixed up in something would you?"
"I mean, I would but I'm not. What do you mean?" I ask.
"I don't know. People talk."
"About what?"
"Most anything."
"Aimee," I sigh, "Ignore them. They just want to talk shit because I'm a poor knight from a poor family. This is, strange as it may seem, how the rich folk are. They pay to keep people around that are amusing. At the moment I happen to be entertaining to him."
"I think he likes you," she says.
"Why?"
"People talk."
"They talk about me?"
She nods.
"Don't worry about it. We're fine, look at us we're moving up in the world," I say, gesturing to the great bed.
With any luck we'll get to stay here through winter, and she won't catch cold, unlike in that little room. And we've both got better things to wear. This is good. This has to be good.
By now I'm just showing up at Edward's rooms, and they let me in without asking. It's understood I come and go as freely as one of the dogs.
"It's Wednesday, we going riding? It looks like rain," I ask, coming into his parlor. He's playing a lute and sitting with his feet up. One of the greyhounds has its head in his lap.
"No! They're digging a ditch today on the southlawn we're going to watch and possibly help," Edward says, hopping up at my entrance. He's simply glowing with happiness at the idea, so I phrase my next question as tactfully as possible:
"Why?" I ask.
"For fun of course! I'm bringing a picnic, I did assume you'd come. I'm inviting Richmond he's down this week."
"Okay," I say, hoping I'll understand when we get there.
I do not.
There's laborers off, digging a ditch, drainage ditch I suppose. It's already hot though storm clouds are gathering in the west. There's maybe ten to twenty, burly, sweaty men, most have already stripped their tunics off, setting to work digging a ditch. We're not even properly supervising either. We've got a blanket and a picnic and people to bring us wine.
Edward is happily sprawled on the blanket, sipping a cup of wine and very attentively watching all the sweaty half clothed people dig.
I wait a few moments to see if we're going to do anything else. We are not. We're not even talking.
"Why did you need me for this?" I ask, I'm sitting up waiting to do something.
"For fun!" Edward gestures generally to the manual labor going on before us.
"I was prepared to be with you, but I'm with Lord Edward now," Richmond says, "It's sad. You can be disappointed. I'm disappointed in both of us, but mostly him for thinking of it."
"I am full of brilliant ideas, cousin," Edward says.
"You're not that's what makes it so upsetting," Richmond says, idly sipping his wine.
"This—is it? It's going to rain soon," I say.
"Sit down and relax, Piers, you might learn something," Richmond says.
"How to dig? I know how to do that," I say.
"You do? Oh good, let's go help," Edward says.
"You don't have to say yes, he'll be sad, but he's not going to make you do it," Richmond says.
"No, why would we do that?" I ask.
"It's fun," Edward says, face falling.
"Oh go on don't make the precious angel sad," Richmond says.
"All right I'll help you—dig a ditch," I say.
"The rain's coming soon anyway they'll need the extra pair of hands," Edward says, striding happily over to the ditch. He is happy. And I don't want to disappoint him. All right. I'm digging a ditch now.
"Spare shovels? Where do you want us?" Edward asks the foreman.
"My lord—,"
"Don't," Edward holds up a hand, smiling warmly, "We weren't doing much anyway."
We both take a shovel and they direct us down to the end.  I do not see any entertainment in this. I've dug before but not as an occupation. I was hoping I didn't have to stoop to this. But I've got fine rooms and fine clothes and my sister's in a safer room with better shoes. I take off my tunic and toss it safely to the grass. It's a good one I don't want to ruin it with mud.
I dig the damn ditch, only swearing lightly under my breath.
Then I see Edward. He's smiling cheerfully, chatting with the other men like they're his friends. After a moment his infectious charm does it's work, and they're laughing and joking with him.
The air is damp and hot, and after a moment Edward strips off his tunic as well. His back and chest are heavy with muscles, he's not only taller than I he's twice as thick. Just lovely ropes of muscles that roll under sunkissed gold skin. He's as well built as any knight, and while he doesn't have tell tale jousting related injuries, he's got his fair share of marks, one on his left ribs, then another long white scar on a shoulder blade. There's a birth mark, red and blotchy, across the well developed muscles of his belly, stretching below the hem of his trousers.
I jerk my head to look away. He's not even looking at me he's chatting with the others. I've felt the muscles in his tight, warm hugs, but seeing him, handsome as ever, is something different. Of course everyone loves their prince. He's perfect.
The rain rolls in, cold and waking me from my odd train of thoughts.
Edward laughs as it hits his face. He tips his head up to catch it, shaking his gold curls from his face.
The other men laugh. The mud is running back down into the ditch faster than we can even dig it out.
I resist the temptation to lob a handful of mud at Edward's chest for maybe two minutes. Which is brave of me. I think.
Then I do and act completely like I haven't done it, just digging innocently.
Edward laughs, immediately blaming me. There is no hesitation. He blames me and smacks me directly in the face with mud. I claw handfuls of it and lob them at his back.
In a few moments the other men have followed suit and a full on mud war ensues. We're getting soaked by rain, water is running into my eyes, nose and mouth, and I'm being pelted with handfuls of mud. Edward somehow is one of the few to stay standing, despite being the tallest target. He picks me up to save me and slings me over one shoulder, far too easily. I smear mud on the smooth skin of his back and he laughs so hard I wiggle free onto my head. I crawl away through the mud but he catches me by the foot. I get free only by launching a clump of mud into his face.
It's the best afternoon of my life.
"I don't want to talk about it," I say, walking back into the parlor room that connects my and Aimee's rooms. I'm covered, head to toe, completely caked in mud.
"What happened to you?" She asks.
"We've just done that," I say, pleasantly, sloshing mud across the wood floor, "I'm going to get clean clothes, then just go swimming to get this off."
"No seriously what happened to you—?"
"I dug a ditch and then got in a mud fight."
"Perot that doesn't even make sense, why were you digging a ditch?" She asks.
"I don't really know," I say, shaking my head. But I do. Edward asked me to do it. So I did it. That's all it takes apparently. And that frightens me too. What frightens me more is, I haven't had this much fun in I don't think all my life. Nor have I been this happy.