The King's Artist

Ch 20: The Captured

Image is of current day Breton Port of Saint-Malo. It's now officially on my list of places I want to travel to. 

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Henry wasn't entirely sure if he was supposed to be feeling overwhelmed or worried by his current predicament. It probably would make more sense for him to at least feel somewhat panicky, but he just couldn't get himself worked up about his situation. He felt alarmingly calm about everything. Maybe it was finally knowing he wouldn't have to run anymore or hide away under someone else's protection, or he was just too frightened to actually feel scared. He was tired, also, with every muscle feeling weighted and strained

The individuals that had taken him away had hauled him into the back of a transport carriage where he was surrounded by some empty barrels and torn bags. They had tied his arms and legs together tightly with some cheap rope, and he felt his skin burn at the irritation it was causing. The swaying of the carriage was making him sick, too, and he rested his head against the wood while focusing on his breathing in hopes of subsiding the nauseous.

Henry had never been majorly claustrophobic, but the carriage was slowly becoming too small and too dark to tolerate. He groaned as he leaned over to lay down on his side. With his hands tied behind his back, though, the position was incredibly uncomfortable, but he already lacked the strength to sit back up. Forced to just lay there uncomfortably, Henry began muttering to himself nonsense to try and distract himself. He recited old textbook passages he had memorized that focused on the art of war and popular strategies used by great generals, as well as pieces of scripture that had been drilled into his head since his toddler years. He had never been big on praying when he wasn't under the watchful eye of his mother or his uncle, but Henry found himself whispering silent prayers about escape and, if that wasn't a possibility, at least a quick death.

He oddly hoped they wouldn't behead him. The thought made his stomach churn, and he felt his breakfast begin to rise up in his throat. He hated the prospect of his mother having to hear about him being decapitated. Hanging would probably bother her too, but Henry figured him not dying in one piece would the most considerable shock to her. Henry shook his head furiously to clear his mind from the disturbing images of his head rolling away from his body, but he could no longer think of anything but his impending execution.

He wished, at least, he could have seen his mother one last time or had given his uncle a proper goodbye. Henry never did get to thank Jasper for all he had done to support and protect him since before the day Edward IV had ordered his extraction and execution five years ago. Probably due to the stress of the situation, Henry was beginning to have difficulty remembering the faces of his uncle and mother. And as the carriage hit a few rocks and holes in the road, memories tied to them seemed to jumble and blur into incoherent images.

With an exhausted sigh, Henry turned his head up towards the ceiling of the carriage awkwardly shifting his neck. The wood was cracking in a few areas allowing for glimpses and flashes of the outside world to peak in. The sunlight had begun to grow dull, and it was clear that nightfall was approaching at a steady rate. He wondered what that would mean for their travels. If the Duke's illness was spontaneous, as he suspected it was, then Henry couldn't see the trip

Aside from the sound of the carriage barreling on, Henry could hear the pants of the horses and soft muttering between the soldiers. He couldn't catch exactly what they were saying, but Henry doubted it was anything important. Their tone of voices

Henry sighed again, this time more substantial than the first. A heavy weight seemed to fall on his shoulders as his mind drifted to Arthur, who he had been trying not to think about. Arthur's tear-stained face and desperate cries were still etched on the inside of his eyelids and echoing in his head. One side of Henry had desperately wanted to go and comfort Arthur, to try and convince him everything was going to be alright, and that he would find a way out of it. The other side to him, however, had selfishly wanted to bring Arthur along, to convince him they should die together, just as real brothers would. The latter definitely made him seemed twisted, but Henry was too close to death to really care about the morality of his thoughts.