Work Text:
What could I say to him, my father, a traitor and usurper of the throne? My friend and cousin King Richard lay in prison, and now this strange position of preparing to be crowned the illegitimate prince of Wales hung round my neck like the albatross.
I tried to think it over while I crossed the channel from Ireland, but every lord escorting me now wanted my friendship. Not long ago, I was the little boy of a banished earl, now according to pomp tongues, I was the paragon of princely courtesy.
“My prince did well to take an interest in these Irish wars, and at such a tender age,” said the Lord Fitzwater. “It speaks highly of his natural leadership.”
“You overestimate me, my lord,” I said. “I only came on this campaign by invitation of our King Richard, who aimed to introduce me to the Irish parliament.”
Not one to be circumscribed, Fitzwater continued, “Only the son of a true king could be so modest.”
But I knew the truth. No political overthrow could change me from what I was: barely a youth, beadless and weak as a girl-child. I was in no position to confront my father, a hard, steely man whom I had hardly seen in my childhood due to his constant involvement in wars. The best I could hope was to implore his mercy on the imprisoned king.
Peasants crowded the harbor when we docked. “Is there some holiday?” I said.
“The people are anxious to get a first glimpse of our new prince,” said Fitzwater.
Knights brought us horses and lead us through the town. Beggars and laborers, men women and children, all lined our path. I felt conscious of so many eyes on me. Did England's poor, humble people think me an honest prince, or the son of a craven usurper? I felt eerily alone, though all the lords leaded towards me in their saddles to tell me what was expected of me at my impending crowning. Their voices faded into the din of the crowd, and I made no struggle to listen. A prince has the right to later order instructions be repeated, does he not?
***
I had a night, just one night, in Windsor Castle to relax and refresh myself before my crowning. When I last visited King Richard's court, the palace was bright with poetry and music until the chimes of midnight, now the halls were as silent my father glare. Only the court yard where soldiers practiced combat seemed busy. After I washed my face and put on a new tunic, I roamed the stoney chambers in search of some sign of life, and at last in the east end of the apartments, I heard men arguing on the other side of a chamber door.
“My liege, on my life, I tell you the Duke of Aumerle plotted against Gloucester. If you leave such deeds unpunished...”
A stern voice interrupted him. Though it was too low for me to make out the words, I recognized the tone. I pressed my ear to the door to better hear. “...as king I cannot afford to alienate our uncle York and his allies. As long as Richard lives, our throne is precarious as it is.”
As long as Richard lives...the words were cold in me.
The lord spoke again. “Letting murderers live is a greater threat than offending York. This duke has spilled royal blood before, and will not hesitate to repeat the act. Look to your house, my liege, look to your house.”
“Enough. The day is old, and we will speak on this later.”
I had no chance to move before the lord yanked open the door and I found my father staring at me from across the room. “Northumberland,” he snapped, “who is this page? A spy for—my Harry! Forgive me, son, I have threats on the brain.” He beckoned for me to approach. “You've grown so manly I hardly knew you.”
I stepped towards him cautiously. I had not seen him for nearly two years, but it seemed many more had pass over his face. His eyes were ringed with black and his beard already shocked by gray.
“You're too old to be afraid of me, boy,” he said. “After all my nights in exile, dreaming of embracing my children, you treat me as a common leaper.”
“I'm sorry, father, I mean, my king,” I said, and dutifully let him wrap his arms around me. When he released me, I added, “If I seem quiet or removed, it is only because I have had many days of travel.”
“Never let that be an excuse, Harry. As prince of Wales you will expected to be diplomatic no matter your inward mood.”
“You do well to correct me, my king.”
I stood dumbly near his chair until he said to me, “You may sit.”
“Have you seen your brothers yet?” he said. “They arrived from Lancaster yesterday for the coronation.”
“No, my king. I look forward to our reunion since I have been some years away.”
“How long were you in Ireland?”
“Most five months, but prior I was here in court under King Richard.”
I knew immediately that once again I had misspoke. Father's face grew grave. “I hope you realize that we will be running a more moral court—no more bandying about with buggering thespians.”
I felt as if I had stumbled into a chance to plead for cousin Richard. “I do expect a more moral government, which is why I plead your grace to show mercy to our kinsman, Richard. He did me kind service, taking me to court and introducing me to the peers. I can hardly bear the thought of him suffering in a rotting cell.”
During my outburst, his face was unmoved. “What wilt thou have me do? Give him leave to stir up his allies in France and bring invasion on our shores? To enter this palace and assassinate me? If thou is such an expert on policy, please tell me. We had thought ourself thy lawful king, but clearly we were mistaken.”
“I thought God's law chose our kings through legal primogeniture?”
“You are forgetting one of God's first laws: honora patrem tuum et matrem tuam.” He rose and looked down on me. “We will leave for Westminster early tomorrow.”
I fell to my knees. “Forgive my impudence, dear king. Take it as no blemish on Richard's case. I only ask that you spare his life.”
“That were some friendship, but little policy.”
***
The prince of Wales: the new and gorgeous garment sat not easily on me. And so, on the eve of my coronation, I slipped away from the feast and rode into London. How could I celebrate my illegal crown when Richard looked down from the Tower? I found the foulest, filthiest public house in all the slums. Slags propositioned pedestrians from the windows, and the doorway was encrusted with layers of vomit. Here I entered and bravely ordered myself a small beer.
“Just because you are a small lad, that doesn't mean you need a small beer,” a voice said behind me. It belonged to an old fat man, face already flushed with drink and white fur like a mane about his face. “In fact, all the more reason for you to get a real drink. It will put hairs on your chin, which I can see badly you need.” He presumptively sat next to me and pinched at my arm. “And maybe you need a fight or two to clamp muscle on those wings you call arms. A drink will aim in that road too.”
I don't know that I expected to go unnoticed—anyone would know me for a gentleman by my attire—but still I was in no mood to deal with strange fools. “Wouldst thou speak this way to thy prince? Durst thou know me? Henry Plantagenet, Prince of Wales.” Saying it out loud felt like a joke to me, and because of this instead of shooting him the angry glare I had intended, I smiled.
“Well, I'll be an Eberw's uncle. A true prince. You know, in my youth, I once saved the life of a sovereign prince who was being set upon my a hoard of angry bears. It must have been about four or five...dozen.”
“Five dozen bears?” I laughed. “Surely, thou jests.”
“Why, you are right, my lad! Right, indeed. When I think on it, it must be nearer a hundred.
A drawer brought my drink, but the old man handed it back to him. “Serve us not this, this, this, pale water. My friend, Prince Hal, and I will have two pints of sack, if you please.”
The drawer looked at me for confirmation. I threw up my hands and said, “Bring us the sack.”