Chapter Text
Leave? One does not do that to a Lord. Because what’s a Lord to do in such an otherwise stale town?
He can go on with his routine, unabashed and proud, feigning nonchalance; all things considered, the rest of Rattay remained unchanged. The stodgy uncle still had to be avoided at all costs, no miracle has turned the tavern’s wine any less flat, the trampled, muddy streets stayed in their place and were filled with the same familiar faces, all insistent on looking away were they to meet the lordling’s gaze. And yet, a certain absence caused disturbance enough to make Hans Capon’s daily life even more tedious than it already was.
How dared a mere turnip-picker live a life more eventful, to disappear on a whim for a mission so secret not a word of it could be shared with a nobleman? The audacity was astonishing and Radzig’s and uncle’s silence preposterous.
Let him return, show but an inch of his scraggy face. Oh, he will be dealt with for leaving like this and it will not be pleasant for either of them. The peasant needs to learn that such disrespect is not and will not be allowed. Then, with lesson learnt, he better work hard to get back into his liege’s good graces. There will be no leniencies granted for puppy eyes or servile favors.
Left to his own devices and overrun by bitterness, the young Lord had no choice but turn to the once neighbors of the insolent yokel, the only other fresh diversion in his fiefdom. On top of that, a quality he’s grown to appreciate, they lacked the experience of the townsfolk regarding the rightful heir. This ignorance exposed itself in something otherwise long lost to the nobleman – a certain benefit of the doubt when dealing with him.
There existed another impossible to omit facet that differentiated Skalitz refugees from Rattay’s citizens – their downtrodden conditions made it all the more difficult to reject the young man’s offers, was he to offer any sort of compensation for agreeing to them.
Capon looked at the man sitting across the table. The serf’s high forehead wrinkled from distress even more than back when the lordling approached him begging on the street. This despairing expression heralded good news. Against all reason, the beggar was faster at counting than the aristocrat and just as expressive. Few throws in, Hans learnt that observing his face before looking at the table will give him as much information but more amusement. He smiled wide and looked down at the dice, counting the points.
“Golly!” He chuckled and reassessed the points before jumping up from his seat with another shout. “Ha!” Commotion caused the other tavern’s visitors to turn in his direction and having noticed that, he cleared his throat and switched tone to one more befitting of his status. “Ahem, it would seem we have the victor at last.” His heart racing with excitement, the lordling nonchalantly moved his hand towards a pouch of groschen laying on the edge of the table. The older man observed this motion with an almost-terror filling his small, pig-like eyes and stuttered:
“…Y-your Lordship, surely you remember…” He paused and looked away as soon as their eyes met. Capon continued to stare, annoyed at the man’s miserable face trying to take away from his moment of triumph. Under different circumstances – or on another person – such a pitiful, begging expression could perhaps be considered flattering to its addressee or at the least somewhat amusing. It was not the case here.
“Hm?” The nobleman raised his brow, impatient for an elaboration. He had, in fact, forgotten whatever there was to remember.
“…Y-your grace’s promise, that is.”
“Ah,” Hans let go off the pouch. It fell back on the table with a quiet thud followed by clinking of coins “of course!” He remembered now; a notion that forced him to smile again to hide the embarrassment of letting the excitement get the better of him.
The penniless wretch would have never agreed to a game of farkle with a rich man without some sort of assurance that he will not walk away from it even poorer than he began. And naturally, thrilled by getting someone to agree to entertain him at last, the young Lord welcomed the beggar’s terms; he was to take with himself all the winnings regardless of the game’s result.
As it had been guaranteed, the serf snatched the pouch and pressed it close against his chest before promptly getting up from the table, showering Capon with clumsy bows.
“Thank you good Sir, thank you.” The good Sir smiled to that, proud of the benevolence and magnanimity of his heart. With this smile he saw the beggar off – the man was moving towards the tavern’s gate as if the Cumans were after his arse all over again. Only once the tattered clothes draping over the man’s cowering posture left his sight, the nobleman realized he was alone anew.
“Shit.” He fell back onto his chair with a prolonged sigh. A great urge to whine filled him but he decided to be mature and honorable about it and not bother his subjects with lordly woes, confiding them in a fresh pitcher of ale instead. Beer turned out not the best of companions, failing to grant him any new ideas on how to occupy himself or at least make the constant annoyance at one audacious smith go away. It took emptying almost half a dozen of mugs and support of a couple of chicken drumsticks until an activity worthy of the young Lord’s attention presented itself in form of listening in into the gossip between two townswomen who had stopped by the tavern.
Obviously, it could not return his enthusiasm altogether, but was interesting enough to engage his thoughts. A monk ? It was uncommon enough to see them outside of the monastery in Sausau, is what he’d been told. There’s no way uncle would keep his mouth shut if one was to visit Rattay. He might be stubborn in his and Radzig’s vow of silence regarding Henry’s whereabouts, but was an event like this to occur, well, let’s just say, Hans would not have been as awfully taskless as he’s been the entire morning.
“A monk?” He repeated his doubts, out loud this time, and scoffed. “Has our dear parish priest finally decided to be Christianly merciful and absolve us from his presence? And surely you must be hoping someone young and handsome would take St. Matthew’s after him, perhaps the famed Prague’s Jan Hus himself?” The lordling laughed to himself as the women turned towards him in silence. Soon enough his expression settled down into one almost somber as he gathered thoughts. It didn’t last long though, as his face lit up again when a barmaid approached him to refill his mug. He looked up at her and smiled. “What do you think dear, maybe I should take on the challenge of taking over our beloved Friar? I do fit the criteria, don’t I?” He puffed his chest and raised his head high to show himself off in all his glory. The server didn’t get to answer beyond a polite yet concerned smile as one of the other women cut in.
“With all due respect, your Lordship, but it was a real monk. He was in robes and all. And it certainly wasn’t the Friar. He was so young even my blind gramps couldn’t possibly mistake them!”
“His face was quite cute too, completely unlike the Father’s” her companion giggled. “Truthfully, it is quite a waste…” The woman’s comment made the nobleman put his mug aside.
“Not only a monk but one with a quite cute face too?” Capon scoffed again and crossed his arms. The barmaid has already used her opportunity to leave, but the other two women’s faces grew increasingly concerned for having crossed – or even upset – the noble. They soon relieved as he burst out laughing. “Now I’m even more confident you’re but spinning fairy tales here! I must admit, it has been an entertaining one, but let’s put a stop to it…” He noticed one of the guards passing the tavern’s gate; the head watchman. The young man’s smile widened upon spotting the familiar face. Luck had it, the man-at-arms in question was one of the few whose names were perfectly memorized by the otherwise aloof to such matters aristocrat. He hollered at him waving his hand up like an excited kid. “Hey, Nightingale! Is it true what they’re telling me, we have been visited by a monastery’s monk?”
The guardsman stopped and bowed towards his Lord.
“Even two of them, Sir.” He looked back up, his expression bearing no sign of deceit. “The strangest thing, my Lord – the boys have just reported that a monk brought another one of his own, knocked out, straight into jail, then demanded to see the Bailif about it!” The watchman’s response turned the lordling quite speechless.
Capon got up, as any responsible Lord would, and decided to check on the gossip by himself. It wasn’t the most gripping activity he could think of to fill his time with, quite far from it in fact, but a Lord does what a Lord must. He couldn’t let such incidents pass by his fiefdom unannounced and unaddressed.
The clergy seldom spelled good news; even less so entertaining to dedicate one’s time and energy to, but facing its uninvited representative must’ve been at the least more interesting than stuffing oneself with beer and chicken to no end. Or was it? The young man cleared his throat. This couldn’t have been one of his uncles’ schemes against him, could it? He felt tension rise up within him, vision of four men sitting down to discuss the next steps of how to handle their troublesome ward.
The image soon faded into the background of the lordling’s mind as he arrived on the town square, at last able to grasp the reality of the situation himself. Indeed, his subjects have not been playing pranks on him – on the market’s edge, near the Bailif, stood a young man dressed in humble, if not ragged, robes staring at a small object held in his hand. Soon enough, having gotten closer, Hans realized that the man in the ascetic gown was nobody else but…
“Henry!” The name slipped out of the nobleman’s mouth. Blacksmith’s son looked up in his direction and they both smiled as their eyes met. “What a wonderful surprise to see you here!”
“Greetings, Sir Hans.” Hal’s smile was rather tired with his eyelids even more droopy than usual, but the fact that it was a smile alone made Hans’ heartbeat quicken with excitement. Turns out, he did miss that dopey face. He wouldn’t call it “quite cute”, though.
Capon kept staring at the smith who’s looked away by now, once more consumed by the small item in his palm. A dice, it seemed. The young Lord’s enthusiasm faded as suddenly as it first arrived and a specific set of thoughts entered his brain instead.
First of all, he was supposed to be angry with the peasant for leaving without a word. Second of all…
“…Do you need something, Sir?” Henry looked back up at the blond man, which paused the intense examination. Shuffling his feet, he scratched his bowed head and Hans could swear if that oaf had a tail, it’d be well-hidden low between his legs right now. The aristocrat looked up from the aforementioned area and met the gaze of his companion again, making sure to put on an appropriately displeased and contemptuous grimace.
“Mind explaining to me, blacksmith,” Hal lowered his eyebrows at this tone change “what exactly is it that you’re wearing?” The nobleman pointed his finger at the muddied, ragged cloth that once might’ve been a monk’s robe but now looked rather like an old tablecloth, the string tying it up resembling a dog’s chew-toy way past its prime.
“Well, Sir, I was…”
“Is that blood?” Capon interrupted him, annoyed by the serf’s inability to recognize a rhetoric question. He pointed at the couple of weathered by now, reddish stains covering Henry’s unusual robes. “This is plain unacceptable, blacksmith. My page could absolutely not be seen like that. And while obviously–no, naturally ,” the young Lord corrected himself and raised his face high in an attempt to look at the peasant from above. “You’re not even close to becoming one, let alone in service of someone of my status; that much needs to be clear.” He scoffed and the corners of his lips contorted into a derisory smile. “Not everyone is aware of this predicament though, especially not your fellow commoners. They might see you in a state like this, dressed like this, and what will they think of me? I know it’s rather difficult for a mere turnip-picker like yourself, but you could try thinking from time to time, Henry. I don’t want your callowness cost me my reputation.”
“As far as I’m concerned you do good enough job of it yourself, Sir.” There was no hint of playfulness in the smith’s tone, nor in the gravely glare he’s been directing at the nobleman. Hans felt his cheeks blush a bit. Perhaps he deserved being knocked down a peg.
“Anyhow! I’m not heartless, far from it, you must’ve noticed by now. I’m quite confident you understood me, let’s not needlessly dwell on the matter.” Change of topic was the closest he could get to admitting it. His grimace did not leave, but at least softened a bit as he looked away, far from happy to have Henry cross with him so soon after his return to Rattay. “You should change for your own sake as well. People are talking.” An alternative explanation appeared in his mind, a quite terrifying one. “Unless it’s not just a silly costume…”
“The Bailif has just sent someone to Sasau to get my things back–“ The peasant cut in.
“To Sasau?!” Capon exclaimed, shocked. “Absolutely not. We are not waiting for him to come back.” Hal was ready to respond, but the blond man stopped him, raising his hand. They stood in silence for a while, aristocrat frowning with his eyes closed, thinking. “You see, your Lordship requires your services this instant.” He added with a stutter quite unfitting for a superior giving out commands. Blacksmith’s expression changed to one of pure curiosity and eagerness.
“Sir Radzig called for me?”
“No, you dolt! I meant myself!” The hesitance was no more, replaced by sincere offense. Somehow, the serf’s assumption embarrassed Hans even more than the earlier remark. The lordling turned on his heel towards the road to the Lower Castle and gestured towards the other man to follow. With a heavy sigh, Henry did.
That was the most inconsiderate of him, was it not? Capon inhaled in anger, wondering how to rebuke this clear lack of thought and respect. Has he forgotten already, uncle’s order to serve him? Radzig be damned, he’s already got an almost entire castle all for himself, he can afford to spare one man to the Lord that so nobly shared his manor with him. This yokel though; First, he disappears without a word. Then, he comes back, still without a word but one of apology this time. No, not even a mere consideration on how his actions could’ve affected the person he once called a “friend”. And now, the most outrageous and unforgivable – there he goes, his eyes all lit up and excited like a little pup’s to a bone at a mere implication of Radzig! It wasn’t even one! His nonexistent tail chasing away all of the Rattay’s annoying fleas the moment his simple mind envisions this old, tiresome prude. The young Lord turned around to take a peek at his no-longer-page, intent on giving him a hearty opinion on such behavior.
Somehow, most of this anger left him the moment he laid his eyes on Hal’s face, very much dog-like as usual, but the puppy excitement was gone from it; he seemed beaten up and defeated, maybe even guilty. Perhaps there was no need to dwell on it, either. Perhaps it would be wiser to spare the grievances and enjoy his company, now that he’s return and is, at least so far, willing to follow him.
“What services are that, your Lordship?” The smith got scratched his neck and looked down after their eyes met again. Perhaps there was a trace of consideration within his uncomplicated mind.
“I’m glad you’ve asked! You see Hal, while you’ve been out there… Reinventing yourself, let’s call it – and worry not, I will ask you all about it, in time – I have been utterly, completely, head over heels bored.” Hans made sure to underline the scope of the boredom through rapid movements of his hands all the way above his head to and adding some dramatic flair to the tone of his voice. He finished the description putting his palm against his appropriately burdened face of a true martyr, sighing deeply. “Now, you probably wonder how’s that possible, for such a delightful socialite like your dearest Lord to be bored. And yet, this is just the God’s honest truth! Not even my most beloved past-times helped quench that devastating tedium.”
“I guess we really do live in dire times, when not even boozing and whoring can entertain the young Lord Capon anymore.” Henry chuckled in sincere amusement which made the other man quite glad, even though the peasant’s assumption was incorrect.
“No, Henry, you are completely wrong! I am talking hunting , obviously. Ever since our latest bathhouse adventure I have understood that the days of leisures ought to be long gone for a future Lord like myself and I have taken upon more serious matters. Which, again, leads us back to hunting.” Blacksmith’s son ran up a bit to now walk alongside his companion, smiling.
“So how much hare is it you caught this time, my Lord?”
“Hal, you silly, feeble-minded little serf, I am so far beyond hunting hare!” Somehow, these words made Henry smile even wider as he struggled not to break into laughter. “Boar it was this time. Imagine – if your simple mind even allows such a thing – that just a couple of days ago, without your incompetence around to scare them away, I managed to bring back home not one, but two of these feral beasts!”
That wasn’t necessarily true. While it was a fact that he had brought two boars to the Upper Castle recently, he hasn’t been the one to have hunted them down. Annoyed with his nephew’s greater than usual moodiness, Sir Hanush decided to task him with an errand young Lord Capon had at least some chance at carrying out – hunting a boar to prepare for a feast later. Alas, fortune did not favor the young archer that day as he had to resort to using the weight of his pouch rather than his dexterity and ask for Berthold’s help in this endeavor not to return empty-handed. None of the townspeople, that is including Henry now, needed to know the details though.
“You’ve carried them back all on your own?” Annoyingly, the serf seemed to have grown keen on playing detective.
“Of course! Henry, why would you ever doubt me?” Hal opened his mouth to respond, but was not given a chance to as the nobleman continued. “However! As you already know, I’ve known these hunting grounds ever since I could walk, therefore even them, painful as it is to admit, bore me. Not even the most difficult of challenges can liven these dull woods up by now! And this is precisely where the idea of our new mission comes in, my dear Hal – you have been honored with once in a lifetime chance of scouting the not yet discovered depths of southern Rattay forests with your beloved, benevolent Lord. Who knows, I might even decide to call some minor hare hunting spot after you if you behave, haha! Aren’t you excited?”
Henry looked anything but excited, gawking at the blond man with a concerned expression.
“So you are just running away from Sir Hanush’ lectures after all.” Hans responded to his companion’s skepticism with a wide, confident smile. One could even risk saying it was a proud one.
“Isn’t it a past-time as essential for a young Lord’s well-being as basking in the beauty of young maidens is? Come on Henry, what say you?” He bumped the serf’s side with his elbow, inviting a response in form of a loud groan.
“Do I really have a say here, Sir?” Capon’s grin widened even more.
“And here I took you for a lost cause that could never learn a thing!” The nobleman broke out into unabashed, resonant laughter that got him the attention of the staff and guards working around Pirkstein’s bailey.
He’d almost care about the stares of his bothered subjects, had his own attention not been focused on his favorite instead. He patted Hal’s back to signal the good intentions behind the jest and the smith joined in with a chuckle. It sounded sincere, at least more so than what Hans was used to receiving – agreeable smiles motivated by conformity rather than sympathy. He hoped with the shy skips of his heart that for Henry too it was the latter; that the man who called him a friend once before truly meant it.
The peasant must’ve noticed the directed at him prolonged, aristocratic gaze as he returned it, confused. That startled the aristocrat in question who, lacking the vocabulary – or perhaps insight itself – to recognize and express his feelings, looked away as soon as possible, changing the topic.
“Come on now, let’s get you dressed appropriately first” he added before drawing ahead of the serf to beat him to his lordly chambers.
By the time Henry caught up to him, Capon was sitting down on the wooden floor, already sifting through one of the chests filled to the brim with his old clothes. Some of the finer selection has been thrown at one of the beds – a colorful pair of hose, fashionably decorated shirt and shoes, on top of more familiar to the lowborn undergarments, yet still made from some of the best quality linen he’s seen in his life – waiting for their beneficiary to arrive. Blacksmith’s son did not seem pleased with the sight though, having put hands on his hips, his tone filled with resigned grit not unlike a mother summoning about the energy to inevitably chide her child for a dozenth time. Perhaps a mannerism he’s developed thanks to the monk-play.
“I should’ve seen it coming alright.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose as if the sight of expensive garments brought him a headache.
“Now Henry, don’t be such a wuss about it, a simple thank you, my Lord and a pretty smile is enough.” The good Samaritan chimed in ignoring his companion’s speech.
“When what I–“ Hal’s voice broke off at the pretty smile request and he squinted at the nobleman, baffled. He shook his head after an amen or two and sighed again, to regain composure it seemed. “What I mean is that, while obviously grateful, Sir , I do really have my own clothes. Quite a lot of them, actually.”
“Yes, in Sasau,” Hans shrugged and dove back into the trunk. “I’ve already said we don’t have time to waste.”
“Not only in Sasau, you know.” The serf’s words made the nobleman stop scouring through his belongings at once and sink into himself. There was but a singular, indisputable meaning behind them, its implication wearing him down. The young Lord clenched his fists on the cloth he was holding as the realization hit him; he might’ve just stolen Henry away from someone who missed him all the more; someone the knight-in-the-making might’ve been all the more eager to see, having returned. “I’ve got my own, err, quarters in the bailey, remember? I moved a decent chunk of my stuff there.” Hal specified and visions of the mill left Capon’s mind as swiftly as they first arrived, but he himself stayed quiet, hiding his embarrassed face from the other man. “Besides…” The aristocrat let out a voiceless sigh of relief when the smith continued talking. It was kind of him, to fill the chamber with sound in the host’s stead. Hans didn’t even mind Henry’s heavier tone, despite its threat of turning the conversation towards less pleasant affairs. “It doesn’t feel right to be accepting handouts like this. Err, not anymore.” His words alerted the the younger man enough to allow him a brief breakaway from the shame’s clutches.
“What do you–“
Hal sighed and continued.
“Again, I’m beyond grateful Sir, of course, but I’ve been thinking… I’m in a way better position than most of my folk and it just doesn’t feel right.” The fickle shame giggled at Capon’s ignorance so ostentatiously exposed by the man in front of him, even if he himself was unaware of it.
Odd, the lordling’s mind has long stopped grouping them together – this sympathetic oaf and the unfortunate wretches loitering the town, rarely welcomed by anything more than scornful and and averse side-eyes of the locals. It was an obvious fact when given a thought; alas, his busy life did not allow a break for such considerations to take hold.
Some part of him segregated Henry into a category of a person entirely separate from the forlorn refugees. He had no idea what it was, hew simply knew – no, felt could be a better word – that but a pitiful derelict he was not. His hands shook as he tried to go back to scavenging the trunk to keep himself busy; the ringing of shame became unbearable, so much so he’s decided to drown it out with the sound of his own voice, at last.
“So it isn’t just a costume after all, you are molding your life into a monk’s!” He laughed loud, hoping for the uneasy feeling in his chest to leave, intimidated by the young man’s confidence and control. “So humble! What’s next Henry, declining my bathhouse invitations? Abstinence?” He clapped his thigh, snorting and short of breath, congratulating himself on the great joke, performatively oblivious to the growing tightness of his chest this vision inspired. Henry did not appreciate the jest, glaring him down from the other side of the room.
“Sir Hans, I–“
Capon raised his hand signaling him to fall silent.
“Leave it, I know you’re serious.” With his hand still raised, he reconsidered his generosity and its targets; dozens of Skalitzfolk straining for a place to sleep in the mud behind the gate; the two beds in the chamber that’s just his. “Perhaps you’re right too.” He sighed staring at the garments scattered across one of them, scraps of which would no doubt be worth more than the refugees’ wealth combined. All things considered, it could’ve felt wrong indeed. But then again, dwelling on such matters was of no use; he looked up at his companion in hopes that his unusual attire would replace the solemn thoughts with ones of hilarity. “Shame. It would’ve suited you. Way more than these robes, that’s for sure.”
“Well, maybe I’ll order similar one at the tailor’s if I scrape together enough” Henry shrugged, but still smiled as their eyes met and Hans’ heart ached once more to the vision of losing him, no matter how recent the addition of his presence in the nobleman’s life was.
“So does a lifestyle of a scoundrel. Being a priest isn’t for you, Henry.” The peasant broke out into loud, candid laughter; perhaps it was Capon’s excessively somber tone that caused it.
“And how’d you know that, Sir?”
“It takes one to know one, don’t they say?” It saddened him, having his sincerity laughed off and doubted. Most unusual, feeling such woe in place of far more familiar to him anger. He frowned engulfed in that strange emotion, a heartfelt expression most distant from his typical, showy poutiness, while still staring right at Hal.
“Don’t look at me like that or I’ll feel guilty!” The smith chuckled, looking away. “Or worse, blush.” He was covering part of his face with his arm. Perhaps it happened already. “Alright, I’ll take them” he added right away, as if silence became unbearable to him now. Hans grew all the more confused, but smiled again in genuine excitement.
“Really?”
“If the future Lord of Rattay Sir Hans Capon himself claims they’d suit me, who am I to refuse him?” Henry looked at the blond man again, his face bearing a sign of defeat, although perhaps a defeat that could be enjoyed. He chuckled again before clarifying. “It’ll be the last time though, alright? Any future handouts will need to go through Sir Radzig and he’ll decide who needs and deserves them most.”
“As if he minds you getting special treatment!” The quite outrageous idea made Capon laugh.
“Well, of course he does! Why wouldn’t he? He has more subjects than just me.” Blacksmith’s son did not seem to share the nobleman’s opinion on the King’s hetman, oblivious and confused. Hans kept laughing; he still couldn’t lay his finger as to why, but Radzig did play favorites and this simple yokel was one of them. Takes one to know one, after all, it seems.
“I wish to understand that too, believe me!” He kept staring at the serf’s confused and offended face for a while more before getting up and dusting himself off. “Well, either way, we need to get going soon. We don’t want to be caught with our pants down when the sun sets on us while we’re in the middle of the woods!” Back to his relaxed and perhaps a little too playful self, he gave Henry a teasing, ambiguous look. “There are way more suitable times and places for that.” The young Lord smirked, awaiting some kind of reaction. The smith smiled back but otherwise kept gawking at his companion, his dopey face and weary eyes betraying no thought.
“What do you–“ At once, the smile washed off his face – a reaction painfully common to having understood many of Lord Capon’s alleged quips. “I thought you’d leave for that.” Hal laughed and scratched the back of his head, coy.
“What are you, shy all of the sudden?“ Hans burst out laughing. “Haven’t we bathed together the other day? I’d say we’ve way past such prudence, are we not?” He kept laughing, amused by the smith’s abashment. Henry shuffled on his feet looking to the side, perhaps trying to come up with a rebuttal to the teasing. He stayed silent as his face grew warm and pink with blush before letting out a proper, long sigh and giving in. He started lifting the robes over his head with close to no caution left in his movements. Capon’s jest stopped right away and he raised his voice. “Which doesn’t mean I invited you here to watch you strip, you impertinent blockhead! What could I possibly gain from that? Of course I meant to leave.” He turned around on his heel to do just that, indifferent yet perplexed to have found out the true scope of monks’ modesty in such way. They had been, in fact, wearing nothing but the robes. “Meet me by the Upper Castle’s gate.” He cleared his throat right before leaving and added, with no plans to let the peasant talk back this time. “Besides, you’re no sight to behold either way.”