Act IV, scene iii.

[never_promised]

The king himself is rode to view their battle: of fighting men they have full three score thousand. That's five to one; besides they are all fresh.

Which the English are not. Harry feels as comfortable in his saddle as--as someone who has slept in it more than once in the last month. And as comfortable staring at the French army as someone who has received the latest intelligence on their number and condition, as well as the reports of his own captains.

Was it an ill omen to see that place, with Percy in it, on the eve--the dawn--of battle? Will he end the day there himself, a laughable ghost in a laughable tavern of ghosts? But that's a foolish thing to dwell on. A sure way to get yourself killed.

He reins in his horse, pats its neck absently. (Isn't that what he's always pictured? A young king at dawn, a white horse, effortless warmth and grace?) The French there, the English there. He can't see the archers, can't hear them driving their stakes into the earth: the wind is carrying French army calls to him instead. But Erpingham knows his business--and York, and Camoys too. And so does Harry Plantagenet.

Right. Well. Back to camp. Time to do what he's here for.

Comments

[never_promised]

"O, there is everything yet to do." His face settles again into weariness. "I ask not how thou camest here, Percy, but it was in a good hour. I could kiss thee," he adds--and does so, on the cheek, a kingly token of esteem.

[harryhotspur]

And in return, Harry offers a bow-- a little, shallow one, far less than a king merits. But it's still a bow, with no mockery in it.

"I know not how I came. But I am glad indeed of't."

[never_promised]

"I too. You are the most loyal soldier of England." A loyal fighter for England past the grave. "--but my brother Gloucester comes; see how he is grown since thou wast in England? He will know thy face, Percy; I will go to meet him--"

He places a hand on Percy's chest, just for a moment, taps his fingers restlessly, before turning away and hurrying over to Humphrey. "Well, brother, we live!"

He'll--he'll catch up again to Harry Percy.

[harryhotspur]

He will eventually, at any rate. Harry turns away and ducks his head. It would seem too conspicuous, he thinks, to put his helmet back on, so as he falls into step with the procession into the village, he just keeps his head lowered. And as he walks, so slowly and smoothly he hardly notices at all, the ranks of men around him seem to thin, the trees begin to change, the mud begins to dry-- and when he looks up, he is in France no longer.