Fic: Henry's Journey. Henry V/French Herald 7/8
Title: Henry's Journey
Author: Hyarrowen
Fandom: Henry V, 1989 movieverse. Slight crossover with two of Christopher Marlowe's plays.
Pairing: Henry V/French herald
Rating: T
Genre: Romance, adventure
Word count: 21,000. This part 3,000.
Summary: Henry is sent into exile, accompanied by a rather reluctant Herald. They go on a great journey together, but it's Henry who travels furthest.
Disclaimer: Not mine, Shakespeare's, Marlowe's and Renaissance Films'. Heartfelt apologies to all concerned.
The horseman pulled aside from the other riders with a muttered apology, dismounted, stared again at Henry, and pulled them into the shadow of the gatehouse tower. Jehan saw a middle-aged man with iron-grey hair (though his own was greying now). His clothes were well-worn. Jehan knew him but it was a moment before he placed the memory: the earl of Westmoreland, one of the leaders of the English army on the Agincourt campaign, now embracing Henry and asking disjointed questions, “Where - how - why didn’t - ?”
Henry thumped his back, grinning, and said “Long story, and I’ll tell you, but first, what of Denmark?”
Westmoreland’s eyes slid to Henry’s companion and Henry said, “Oh, you remember the French Herald, Montjoy? Jehan, my cousin of Westmoreland.”
Comprehension flooded across the Earl’s face and he shook hands and said, “We heard you’d gone with him, Montjoy, but there was no news after you’d left Malta. So you’ve been hiding out here all this time, then?”
“No, we came here by a roundabout route. We’ve been wanting to get news. Tell us, cousin. What’s been happening?”
“Ah. Well.” Westmoreland’s face sobered. His eyes went to Jehan, and then back to Henry, unsure.
“I’ve got no secrets from Montjoy. Tell us.”
Still the Earl hesitated. Henry made a small noise of exasperation.
“Henry,” said Jehan quietly. “It might be necessary for us to have secrets from one another, now. We knew that when we came back.”
Henry pulled him into the corner of wall and gatehouse tower, eyes locked on him. “No.” Snowflakes drifted down between them.
“Go talk with your cousin. You haven’t seen him for years. I’ll be back at the sea-guild.” He made to give Henry a little push towards the Earl, but Henry’s hands came up and caught his for a moment.
“I’ll come back to the guild. Later,” promised Henry, and turned back swiftly to Westmoreland, who was waiting with barely concealed impatience. “Now, cousin, where away?”
Jehan was almost asleep when there was a knock at the door. “Yes?”
“It’s me.”
He got up, unlocked the door, and made haste to get back into bed. Henry got rid of his outer clothes and boots, and hesitated.
“Jehan?”
He heard the unspoken request, and shifted over in his bed. Henry shed the rest of his clothes, and huddled under the covers with him. Jehan stifled an exclamation as the cold body touched his, and then with an act of sheer willpower put his arms round him. Henry almost purred at the warmth.
“He said -” There was no urgency in his voice.
“In the morning. We’ll think about it tomorrow. Just sleep, for now.” He kissed Henry, reached over him to dowse the candle, and settled them down together.
The cold grey morning found them, breakfasted and ready, sitting on Jehan’s bed and considering Westmoreland’s news. Henry’s son, youngest brothers and sister all well, England restive under Thomas’ misrule, all Henry’s gains in France ceded back to King Charles, and Katherine?
“Married to her Welsh nobleman, and expecting their first child.” Henry sounded pleased, relieved and slightly put out, all at once, then nudged Jehan’s arm with his own. “It could have been much worse, no?”
“She deserves to be happy. She’s a sweet lady.”
“Hmm.” Henry smiled slightly. “It does make things easier for you and me.” They both stared at the wall opposite, lost in their own thoughts.
“It was always going to be difficult, coming back,” said Jehan after a while.
This limbo came to an end when Westmoreland arrived. He took in at a glance the two beds, one clearly slept in, the other piled high with two sets of jackets, cloaks and bags, his cousin and the Frenchman sitting in relaxed closeness, and betrayed no reaction at all, taking the room’s only chair.
“Have you thought about what you’ll do?”
“Go to Denmark first and talk to the family. See my son. We don’t have to do anything publicly for a while. We can even pay for our board and lodging!” He and Jehan both smiled, remembering times when they’d been hard put to it to do just that. “And if needs be, we can just fade quietly away again.”
“We? You’re not going back to France?” Westmoreland looked at Jehan.
“I’d hardly be welcome at court.” That was something he and Henry had worried at; unthinkable that he could betray either his country or his lover. In the end Jehan had said, “Henry. We’ll think of something. We’ve been halfway round the world and back; we ought to be able to manage this. We don’t have to solve it today.”
“Diplomat,” Henry had said, without rancour, and they’d left it at that.
“Then, if you and Montjoy are for Denmark, I’ll go on round the Baltic cities raising finances,” for that was what the Earl was doing here in Konigsberg, the finances being for an attempt to oust Thomas and salvage the kingdom for the young prince, “but I’ll make no mention of you as yet!” He was smiling. After three years he saw something to hope for. “I’ll give you letters for Queen Philippa and your brothers. You’d never be allowed near them as you are.”
“You should have seen us last year.” Henry looked down at his clothes, workaday but new and whole; he and Jehan grinned at each other, remembering the crossing of the Taklamakan and the frightful figures they cut when they’d trudged into Kashgar from that desert.
“And you’ll need money for the voyage to Copenhagen, though I don’t know when a suitable ship will be leaving.”
“We can work our way if necessary. It would be quicker than waiting for a passenger ship. Cheaper, too.” Jehan felt it was time he reasserted his presence.
“We’d make a profit! They’ll know downstairs which ships are going. We can be in Denmark inside a fortnight. What are people buying in Copenhagen?”
Westmoreland blinked. “Was it like this, all the way to Cathay and back?”
“Yes,” they said in unison. “And sometimes it was a lot more eventful,” added Henry.
His cousin, sobered, said “I shouldn’t let you go without an escort. We can’t lose you now the end’s in sight.”
“Jehan’s kept me alive these last three years. We don’t need an escort for a little sea-voyage.”
“In any case an escort would only attract attention, and either of us might be recognised this close to home,” pointed out Jehan, though he suddenly saw how they’d spent those years, as though nothing could wholly touch them. They’d sallied into dangers that would have given them pause in their old lives, and now that they had returned, danger became somehow real again.
“Be of good cheer, cousin,” said Henry solemnly. “We’re as likely to be shipwrecked as passengers as traders. Maybe you’ll be the one to go to the bottom of the Baltic.”
Westmorland, with bad grace, conceded the point. “You’ll be staying here, then, rather than coming to the inn with me?” He wasn’t slow on the uptake, and was getting used to Henry again, the speed and decisiveness of him.
“That’s the idea. We’ll be two ordinary traders.”
Several ports later, the ordinary traders were in a tavern near the docks (the kind of tavern that Jehan had never considered entering before travelling with Henry, and now regarded as rather tame) having a farewell drink with Karl and Olaf, and promising to keep an eye out for them. “And we might, at that,” said Henry, with a thoughtful look that meant he’d had another idea; and they made their way through the port and into Copenhagen to find a lodging for the night.
They dropped their luggage on one of the beds of their room, perhaps the last time that they would do that, and debated who should take Westmoreland’s letter to Henry’s brothers.
“You’ll be recognised if you take it,” argued Jehan. “They’ll have people in their household who know you. If word gets out - ” to France. He stopped. Henry, I - ”
“What is it?”
It wasn’t the time to talk about divided loyalties. “I’ll take the letter.”
In the dim light of a winter’s afternoon Henry looked straight at him. “Tell me.”
Jehan’s eyes wavered away from him. “Henry, mignon, I love you. You know that. But I love France too. There’s a voice in my head that’s telling me I should remember that. Now that we’re almost home.”
Henry squatted in front of him as he sat miserably on the bed, and took his hands. “We should have talked this out before, but there was no time, and I want to see my brothers again, now. But remember what you said? We’ll find a way round it? And one of the ways is that, if ever I’m a king again, there’ll be no more adventuring in France. Unless there are more attacks on England, and I’d make sure that wouldn’t happen.”
“Would it be that simple?”
“There are other ways to be a power in the world than to wage war.” Well, Henry would always be Henry. “I’ve learned that much in three years, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes.”
“So, Herald. Will you take the letter?’
The letter, handed to Henry’s brother the Duke of Bedford, resulted in their swift removal to his house in a suppressed storm of emotion. Messages were dispatched to the dukes of Exeter and Gloucester, to summon them from their army commands. Another message to Queen Philippa, and Henry was gone to the palace with Bedford, leaving Jehan to sit out the ebb-tide of homecoming in the quiet house. A hot bath, the best meal he’d had in months, and he found his way to his bed and stretched out in it with a weary sigh, to be woken, hours later, by someone sliding in beside him. “Alright?’ he whispered, and Henry answered “Yes,” and slung an arm around him; but complained in the morning that the bed was too small (roomy though it was compared with some they’d shared in the past) and chivvied him back to his own much larger bed. When they’d slept again, Henry talked about his son.
“He didn’t remember me, of course. But he liked the carved dragon I bought for him in Chengde market - do you remember, where we bought your sword?”
“Half a world away, two years ago, in another life.” said Jehan dreamily. Autumn leaves glowing scarlet in the forested hills, snow-capped mountains against a blue sky, the smell of frying food, and the caravan ready to depart. “Were we ever really there?”
“You need a good long rest,” grinned Henry.
“So do you.”
“Nothing will happen for a few days, until we can get the family together. I need reports from England too. You and I will stay here for now. Going to the Palace would make it all too official. And Philippa’s ready to get news of your family, but we’ll have to think of a way to do it. I don’t think we can tell them you’re safe. Yet.” Henry looked away.
Jehan smiled a bit. “I’ve already written to them, from Trebizond.”
“You did what?” Henry sat bolt upright, scattering pillows.
“Oh, calm down. Of course I didn’t. But I wanted to, and maybe I should have done. Henry, my parents are old. But that’s not the point. Do you think King Charles hasn’t got agents here, or that your arrival won’t be noticed? Reports might be going back to Paris even now.” Henry sank back among the pillows, listening, watching him. “You half believed me when I said I’d written home. If your plans - whatever they might be - are betrayed, who do you think will come under suspicion?”
Henry scoffed. “I might believe you’d write to your parents. I’d never believe you’d betray me to my enemies.”
“Scroop did,” said Jehan bluntly. Henry flinched.
“You are not Scroop!”
“If something happens to you, I’ve got no wish to be put to the question by your family,” continued Jehan soberly.
“They know you could have killed me any time these last three years and more. You didn’t even have to kill me. You just had to abandon me.”
“Scroop,” repeated Jehan.
“I half wish we hadn’t come back.” Henry looked away from him, scowling.
“We had to, for all sorts of reasons. And some day, one of us is going to be left alone, mignon, and what if that had happened in Shanghai, or Samarkand? No, we had to come back. But I’ve been thinking. I don’t want to know your plans. If for no other reason, because Thomas is an ally of France, and I still have other loyalties than to you. Oh, I know you meant it when you said there’d be no more campaigns in France, and I’ll hold you to that. But I can’t actively help someone who’s working against a French ally. So you can’t even let me go back on the road - ”
“Why ever not?”
“For my own safety and reputation, or what remains of it.”
Henry sighed, and took his hand.
“So, put me under guard. It doesn’t have to be in a dungeon. Your sister can arrange something, I’m sure. We can even see each other, if someone’s there to make sure I’m not getting secrets out of you. And you can make your plans, and when it’s all over, I can come to England, and you can sign a new treaty with Charles. Or if things go wrong, we can go on our travels again.”
Henry thought this through, and then looked at him with a new fear. “Jehan, are you giving me an easy way out?”
Jehan didn’t even pretend to misunderstand. “Maybe. Henry, you’re almost home now. Having an unsuitable lover isn’t going to help your cause.”
“My family know what I am. If they didn’t object to Scroop they can’t possibly object to you. If we put this ridiculous plan of yours into action I’m going to tell them that I’ll miss my bedfellow, and they’ll know what that means, if they haven’t worked it out already. And I will miss my bedfellow, and I’ll want him back as soon as possible. You and your damned conscience. If it hadn’t saved my life three years ago I’d hate it now.” His arm curved round Jehan’s shoulders, pulling him close, and his hand stroked through Jehan’s hair, giving the lie to his words. “Sweet friend,” he murmured. Then another thought struck him, and he froze. “You’re not looking for a way out yourself?”
“No.”
Henry finally smiled. “And what would you do, alone in your tower, while I’m planning to invade my own country?”
“Rest. Sleep. I’m fifteen years older than you, Henry. I’m tired. And when I’ve rested, maybe I’ll write the story of our travels. People are still reading Marco Polo’s book. Why shouldn’t they read our story as well? I might make our fortune!” He was striving for a lighter note.
“If you tell the whole story, you certainly will.” A kiss, another kiss. “But there’s one other thing you could do. Think about a trade policy for England. No-one’s better qualified for that than you, and I’ll have to get the place prosperous again, and quickly. If I get trade moving again, the shipping will need protection, and that’ll give the young men something to do, too. Otherwise they’ll be wanting war again before too long, and even the Scots can’t keep us busy forever. Can you do that?”
Horizons opened in Jehan’s mind again. “Of course I’ll try.”
“Good.” Henry slid further down into the bed, and pulled Jehan down on top of him. “Well, if we’re going to be parted for a while, we’d best make the most of the here and now, don’t you think?”
Confined in a pleasant enough suite of rooms in the palace, Jehan was content to sleep for most of the next few days, and then the restlessness that had always been a part of him surfaced again, and he would move from one window to another, cursing his self-imposed passivity. Philippa got news from Picardy, by her own mysterious methods, (his family were well, though his parents were getting frail) and he had access to the royal library. Henry’s relatives would look in to pay courtesy calls; often he’d be allowed outside, supervised of course. Henry saw him whenever he could, with one of his brothers or Philippa at a tactful distance going through state papers, while they talked carefully about Jehan’s memoir of their travels, reliving their journey, correcting each other’s memories, laughing sometimes. Once or twice, Henry brought his son with him, a solemn-eyed child who watched spellbound as Jehan drew him small pictures of pirate junks or yaks, and Henry watched them both with a lurking smile.
Then one day Henry came alone, dressed for war.
“You’re going, then.” It was rather a shock to see the scruffy companion of the last three years wearing the royal arms of England again.
“On the next tide. You’ll be free from now on, Jehan. You can’t give away any secrets now. Most of Denmark knows more than you do.” Henry stepped into his arms with a sudden sigh, and Jehan could feel the tension in him, for all his confident manner. He returned the embrace, though they didn’t kiss. Words deserted them both for a while, and then Jehan pushed him away gently.
“Go on. You can’t miss your tide. And when it’s all over, remember what I told you in Qurgan.”
Henry struggled for the memory, and then broke into a knowing smile. “At the end of a campaign…”
“Exactly. Now go,” and he sent him on his way, still smiling reminiscently.
Jehan, sitting in the window-seat, watched until the ships left the harbour. He had no idea how he was going to tell Henry that, even if everything turned out well, he could not stay with him forever.
On to Part 8: http://community.livejournal.com/historic_slash/147894.html
Back to Part 6: http://community.livejournal.com/historic_slash/146731.html#cutid1