It seems as though everyone needs to have a word with the king. Harry may remember being asked about prisoners under similar conditions. Dry with rage and extreme toil, breathless and faint, leaning upon his sword? It's a long time before Monmouth is left alone, or anything like alone. Soldiers coming and going, captains embracing him, lords and knights, heralds.

Finally he gets free, and walks over to Harry, wiping mud from his face with a scrap of cloth. "Percy. Percy, how hast thou fared? Thou'rt standing, still."