early Hans and Henry, mere weeks after Skalitz.
A beggar woman, barefoot, filthy, face blistered from sun and wind is being dragged by her elbow by one of the castle guards. A few others sit nearby, silent as ash. One of the men has a twisted leg. Another is missing an eye.
Henry recognizes them. Skalitz folk, or what’s left of them.
‘Caught her stealing bread,’ the guard announces. ‘Second time this week.’
Hans, atop his dapple-grey horse, wrinkles his nose at the scene. He looks down, eyes narrowing as if inspecting a loose button.
‘If they’re so desperate, they should work.’
Henry, walking beside the horse, stopped in his tracks.
‘Work?’ he repeats, tone flat. Looking up at the nobleman in disbelieve.
‘Yes. Work. Labour. Whatever it is your people are always going on about. If you’re strong enough to steal, you’re strong enough to carry a bucket or sack.’
Henry turns to him, slowly, sucking at his teeth.
‘Their village was burned to the ground.’
‘Yes, and I am sorry about that,’ Hans says, not sounding remotely sorry. ‘But it’s been weeks. There’s work in the fields. In the mills. If they’d just…’
‘They don’t have shoes, Sir.’
‘So? I’ve seen field hands with less.’
‘Then why do they breed like rabbits if they can’t feed their-?’
The word cracks out of Henry like a whip. A few passersby turn to look. Even Sir Hans blinks as he looks down to this peasant that has been giving him lip all day.\.
Henry steps closer, voice low but tight with fury. ‘They steal because they’re hungry. Because every coin they had burned with their homes. Because they lost everything while you were polishing your goddamn wine goblets.’
Hans raises his brows, still caught by the balls on this blacksmith’s son, but his voice stayed cool.
‘It’s not theft that bothers me, Henry. It’s the entitlement. As if the world owes them something.’
‘Yes.’ Henry sighs and pulls at his gambeson, pulling it straighter. ‘The world owes them a chance to live. That’s it. Not comfort. Not charity. Just a chance not to starve like dogs.’
Hans smirks, not in a cruel way but he would lie to himself if he tried to deny that he was not entertained at the moment.
‘You’re very passionate today.’
‘I buried neighbors last week, Capon. Kids. One of them tried to eat rotten cabbage and it—’
His voice broke off. Just slightly. Just enough for Hans to notice. ‘It’s not a debate for me. I’ve seen what happens when you shut doors on people.’ The peasant boy finishes.
Hans is silent for a moment, then shrugs a shoulder like he was brushing off rain.
‘Still doesn’t excuse pickpocketing.’
‘It doesn’t. But I’d rather a stolen loaf than a dead child.’
Hans tilts his head, half-smiling, half-serious.
‘You’re insufferable when you’re righteous, you know that?’
‘And you’re an arse when you’re bored.’
Hans barks a laugh and throws his head back. ‘It is rather fun, arguing with you, blacksmiths boy.’
‘Glad I could entertain His Lordship.’
The sarcasm isn’t lost on Hans, but it feeds the grin on his face. ‘Very much so. Wouldn’t be the same without your tragic peasant fire.’
Henry started walking again. Hans’s horse clops after him.
‘One day, Capon,’ Henry mutters, ‘you’re going to have to choose between being right and being good.’
Hans says nothing at first, and focuses on the leather reigns he loosely holds in his hands. Then, casually he remarks softly, ‘I do hope you’ll still like me when I’m neither.’
