Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (25 page)

“What do you see?” Bastian asked quietly.

Henry thought on that question as he studied the land, the water, and the sky beyond the window. “God’s greatest creation,” he finally said, looking at Bastian. “He gave it to me.”

Bastian smiled faintly. “He did,” he replied, eyeing the child as his attention returned to the river. “As He gave it to your father also. I knew your father very well. Did you know that?”

Henry nodded. “I have been told,” he said. “My father trusted you. Is that why you are here to watch over me?”

Bastian shrugged. “Partly,” he said. “Your uncles have asked me to assume this post. They feel that you are growing up and need more protection. That is why I am here, to protect you and to mayhap educate you in the ways of a warrior. Your father was a great warrior, after all.”

Henry looked at him, confusion etched on his face. “My father died when he was away at war.”

Bastian nodded. “He did, but it was because he fell ill, not because he was wounded.”

“Were you with him when he died?”

Bastian’s expression softened as he thought back to those days of Henry V. “I was,” he replied quietly. “His last thoughts were of you, but I suppose you already know that.”

The young king pondered the explanation. “How old are you, Sir Bastian?”

“I have seen thirty years.”

“Then you have seen a great deal in your life.”

“I have seen enough.”

Henry studied his face a moment and Bastian could literally see the questions and ideas rolling through his soft brown eyes. When the lad spoke, it was pensively. “Do you suppose God was punishing my father for fighting in France?” he asked. “By letting him die, I mean. God does not like greed. He likes mercy and kindness.”

Bastian wondered if the boy was repeating what he had heard or if these were indeed opinions formed by a free will. He nodded to the lad’s statement.

“God likes mercy and kindness,” he said. “But he also gives us the power to stand up for ourselves. That is what we are doing in France, you know, standing up for what belongs to you.”

Henry seriously mulled that over, watching birds as they hovered in the river breeze. “But the French do not want to give me what belongs to me,” he said. “I have heard the reports from France. Sometimes Uncle Humphrey tells me what is happening, but mostly I listen to him when he thinks I am not in the room. I heard him and de Beauchamp speak of the Maid of Orleans many times. They said that you showed pity towards her.”

Bastian looked at the boy. There was no telling what all he had heard out of context even though, Bastian was sure, people like Gloucester and Bedford tried to keep most things from him. But he was a curious young boy. It was natural. As he gazed into the lad’s brown eyes, he was coming to think that Henry was indeed an intelligent young man who had probably heard much more than he should have. Something in his expression suggested it.

“As a knight, it is my duty to be fair to the less fortunate and loyal to my king,” he said. “You are my king and you have my fealty. The Maid of Orleans was simply a woman I showed fairness to, in all things.”

Henry’s brow furrowed, perplexed. “But how can you be fair to her when she opposes me? She does not want me to have what belongs to me.”

He had a point but Bastian wasn’t going to argue about it. He was careful in how he phrased his reply.

“Think on it this way, Your Grace,” he said. “Let us pretend, for argument’s sake, that Charles of France believed he was entitled to rule England and he came over to this country to fight you for it. You resisted him. Does that make you a bad person? Does it make you a traitor?”

Henry shook his head. “It is
my
country.”

Bastian nodded his head. “Exactly,” he said. “You must understand that the Maid was fighting for her country. That does not make her bad although many people wanted to believe she was bad. She loved France, just the way you love England, and she wanted France to be free of English rule.”

Henry understood that simple explanation. In fact, it appeared as if he was somehow enlightened by it. But there was still more he did not understand and no one had ever been so willing to explain things, so he was very eager to speak with Bastian about it. He’d had many questions for quite some time and they all seemed to come tumbling forth.

“But she said that God spoke to her,” he said. “That is blasphemy.”

Bastian didn’t agree or disagree. He simply cocked his head thoughtfully. “She did not say God talked to her, Your Grace,” he said quietly. “She said that Saints Michael and Catherine spoke to her. Let me ask you this, Your Grace - do you believe God hears your prayers?”

Henry nodded fervently. “He does. I know He does.”

“Does He speak to you?”

Henry shook his head slowly. “He does not.”

Bastian’s gaze moved out to the river, watching the white birds on the wind, the boats rocking gracefully upon the water, as he thought of his reply.

“Your Grace, have you ever prayed for something that you wanted very badly?” he asked. “For instances, have you ever prayed for a sick person to be healed or for good weather on a hunting day?”

Henry nodded. “I… I prayed for my dog once,” he admitted, looking as if he had done something quite wicked. “My dog was sick and he died.”

“Did you pray for him to live?”

“I did.”

Bastian shrugged. “Then God spoke to you but you did not realize it,” he said. “You must understand that God’s answer to you was that your dog must pass from this life. You prayed for the dog to get well but God told you that it was the dog’s time to die. Now he is no longer in pain. Do you understand that God’s manner of speaking to us is not always the obvious way?”

Henry’s eyes widened. No, he hadn’t considered that at all. He pondered that great revelation seriously. “Then… then the Maid of Orleans… mayhap the saints did speak to her?”

Bastian nodded faintly. “Anything is possible, Your Grace,” he said. “Just because we did not see it does not mean that it did not happen.”

Bastian had opened an entirely new world up for Henry as the young king leaned on the windowsill and gazed out over the mighty river that flowed through his country. But the young king wasn’t done with his questions yet. It was rare that anyone would answer any serious questions he had so this was a prime opportunity he would not waste.

“Do you think the saints talked to her?” he asked Bastian.

Bastian had to be very careful with what he said. He was afraid anything he told the boy would get back to Gloucester or Bedford, or worse – any enemies he might have in young Henry’s entourage. He didn’t want to give them any ammunition against him, especially when he still had a trip to Winchester to make in the next few weeks. He didn’t want his comings and goings to be watched.

“If she believed it, then mayhap they did,” he replied. “I never saw them but that does not mean they did not speak to her.”

He skirted the answer but it was enough for Henry. He seemed satisfied, gazing up at Bastian as the river breeze caressed his freckled face.

“Did you know her well?” Henry asked.

“I did.”

“Was she kind?”

Bastian thought back to the Maid he knew, the woman with the strength of an entire nation. “She was very kind.”

Henry fell silent a moment, his gaze now drawn to two birds down on the water, fighting over something. There was so very much on his young mind.

“I think they did talk to her,” he finally said. “And I think my uncle is going to go to Hell for killing her.”

Bastian didn’t reply. He didn’t want to agree or disagree with the young king in spite of the fact that he was in concurrence with his statement. It was his feeling, and had been all along, that Bedford was going to burn for what he’d done. But he didn’t particularly want to discuss that subject so he pushed himself off the windowsill and turned in the direction of the stairs that led down to the ground floor.

“Shall we return to your retainers, Your Grace?” he asked. “They are probably wondering where we are.”

Henry climbed down from the windowsill and headed to the steps, looking at Bastian as he did so.

“Can we come back here, Bastian?” he asked. “Can we come here again and talk?”

Bastian could see that the lad was starved for attention and conversation, an odd state for a child who was surrounded by people all of the time. That pity Bastian had been starting to feel deepened.

“Of course, Your Grace,” he said. “Whenever you wish.”

“Tomorrow?” Henry asked eagerly as they began to descend the steps.

Bastian had to reach out a hand to steady the lad and keep him from falling down the stairs. “If that is your wish.”

“It is,” Henry said firmly. “I want to come back here every day and talk to you.”

Bastian smiled faintly as they reached the ground floor. “Can I bring my wife, Your Grace?” he asked. “She is your cousin, after all, and a very smart and humorous woman. I think you will like speaking with her.”

It was clear that Henry wanted Bastian to himself with no intrusions but he shrugged hesitantly. “If you want her to come.”

“I do, Your Grace.”

Henry wasn’t any too pleased about a woman being a part of their private discussions but he didn’t say anything. He was thrilled that his new protector was a knowledgeable and friendly man, providing him with the male figure in his life that he had so sorely lacked. Henry liked to think that his father would have been this way; patient, strong, and wise.

But Bastian had known his father so it was perhaps the closest he would ever come to speaking with him in the flesh, for his dreams were vivid things where the powerful king who had been his father, Henry V, appeared upon a white horse, but as the young boy drew up alongside to see the glory and comfort that only a parent could provide, the long-dead monarch would disappear like a puff of smoke. Perhaps it was even Henry who had sent Bastian to look over his son.

Young Henry could only hold out hope that it was true. Perhaps with the introduction of his personal protector, his lonely days were to be a distant memory.

The evening meal that night was held in the big hall of the White Tower, a vast space with two massive tables that held an array of fine food and drink. Unlike Lady Gloucester’s feasts, which tended to be quite elaborate with live entertainment, opulent settings, and exotic beasts, the king’s table was less frenzied, less elaborate, but stocked with the same expensive and quality foods that Gloucester often had. There was no mistaking that it was the king’s table.

Bastian and Gisella found themselves in the young king’s entourage as they entered the White Tower and emerged into the glowing, brightly-lit hall. Great torches lined the walls, sending dense black smoke to the ceiling, as a hearth taller than a man and four times as wide belched searing flame and embers into the room. Servants bustled about, finely dressed, ensuring that the tables were set with pewter plates instead of trenchers. Wine flowed.

From the moment Bastian had returned with the young king from their private walkabout, the monarch seemed determined to keep Bastian very close to him. Gisella had been on the outskirts, which she didn’t mind because it gave her the opportunity to observe and see all Bastian probably couldn’t see since he was in the middle of it. Shrewd and understanding the hierarchy of courtiers from her years in Lady Gloucester’s circle, Gisella deduced quite a bit very quickly that she knew would be helpful to her husband.

The two nurses surrounding the king seemed to make most of the decisions for him. They were harpies, both of them, jealous of anyone else getting close to the boy and only backing away when they were forced to. The king’s physician, a round man with a bald head, seemed to genuinely have the young boy’s interests at heart and there were two more physicians that gathered around him.

Initially, it seemed like there were the three physicians against the two nurses, but there were also a host of other servants that followed him closely – two boys that were slightly older than him and evidently meant for companionship because they really had no other purpose, plus a privy attendant who, literally, cleaned up the young king after he relieved himself. There was a servant of the body who dressed and helped bathe the young king, and a servant of the bedchamber whose only task was to remain next to the king’s bed all night in case he should need anything. But that wasn’t where it ended. There were more courtiers still.

There were the advisors – Gloucester and his half-brother, de Beauchamp, plus the Earl of Suffolk who had recently been ransomed from being a hostage in France, the earl’s foolish younger brother, and several other barons that Gisella had not yet identified. They were men meant to give advice but what they really did was tussle over control of the king’s good will and power. Gisella had seen quite a bit of it in Lady Gloucester’s court but she was seeing it at a greater level here. These were the men to be avoided and they were the men who already had great suspicion and great hatred of Bastian because he added a new element to their competitive group. They knew the Beast and it was clear that the Beast knew them. Invisible lines had already been drawn.

But Gisella was used to that kind of thing and, evidently, so was Bastian. He ignored everyone except the young king, who walked into the hall holding on to Bastian’s arm. The monarch was announced as he entered the hall and the guests who were already there bowed deeply to the young king as he made his way to his cushioned seat. Everyone remained standing until the king was seated on the dais at the end of the hall.

Then, people began to mill towards their seats and in the far right corner of the hall near the door, a group of five minstrels began to play. There was a harp, a lute, and a vielle, like a violin, as well as a man on a drum and another man with small clacking wooden objects in each hand. As the struck up a rather lively tune, the servants began to bring out the main courses.

Great heads of beef were brought out, tongues fully cooked and exposed, and there were semi-precious stones where the eyes use to be. The horns on the heads were painted bright red and the heads, six in all, were placed in various places along the feasting tables as even more servants brought out great bowls of stewed ribs with carrots and onions, meatballs of beef and veal that were shaped and colored to resemble lemons, and a variety of boiled vegetable dishes and breads. As soon as young Henry tore off a piece of warm bread and put it in his mouth, the guests began to eat.

The king insisted that Bastian sit to his right, which he did, and Bastian made sure that Gisella sat on his right. The rest of the courtiers except for the nurses and physicians settled themselves at the table, everyone slurping up the king’s fine wine and helping themselves to the savory dishes. A servant brought the king a tray of
hattes
, or little meat pastries shaped like knight’s helmets, which utterly thrilled the young boy. Meanwhile, Bastian helped his wife with the bread and meat, pouring her wine himself from one of the golden pitchers on the table. As she buttered her bread, he leaned into her.

“How was it after I left the king’s chamber earlier?” he asked quietly. “They all seemed quite shocked that I took the king away without any of his entourage as chaperones.”

Gisella grinned. “I do not think they knew what to do,” she whispered. “But no one will challenge you, that is for certain.”

He grunted. “Except for Suffolk’s brother,” he muttered. “He bears watching.”

Gisella’s smile faded. “More than you know,” she said softly. “He is a thief and a liar. Lady Gloucester has had difficulties with him before. In no way should he be close to the young king. If I were you, I would find a way to banish him completely.”

Bastian wouldn’t look at the young lord who was far down on the table now, drinking more than his share of wine and being rude to the servants. “I cannot unless you give me a solid reason to do it,” he whispered. “What do you know about him?”

Gisella took a drink of her wine before replying. “I told you,” she said. “He is a thief. He stole a golden salt cellar from Bella Court last month. Rumor has it that he sold it and used the proceeds to pay for the services of young boys over on Watling Street. That is only rumor, of course, but I would not let him near young Henry if I were you.”

Bastian buttered his own bread. “Did you see him steal the salt cellar?”

“I did not, but one of Lady Gloucester’s servants did.”

“What about the rumors of his taste for young boys?”

“It is common knowledge. Ask anyone.”

Bastian sighed heavily, ending up coming out as a grunt. “If it is common knowledge, I am surprised they allow him near the king at all.”

“He is Suffolk’s brother and Suffolk is a major supporter of the king.”

Bastian knew that. He took a big bite of his bread, trying to mask his expression of disgust for Suffolk’s brother.

“Then I will speak with Gloucester,” he said. “Mayhap we can have him removed from court without offending Suffolk.”

“As the King’s Protector, surely it is your decision on who has access to the king,” Gisella insisted. “If you make the decision to remove him and Gloucester supports you, then Suffolk cannot refute you. Surely the man knows the rumors of his own brother. I wonder if he allows him near his own young sons?”

Bastian lifted his eyebrows. “Excellent point, wife,” he said, turning his attention to her and studying her lovely features. She was such a glorious creature and, for the first time, he felt proud to have her at his side. “May I say that I am very glad you are here with me? I feel as if I have been out of touch with Henry’s court for years. I am glad to have the advice of someone who knows.”

Gisella smiled at him, flattered, and he smiled back, swallowing what was in his mouth. Then he leaned forward and kissed her on the tip of her nose.

“That is in thanks for your assistance,” he said softly.

Gisella’s heart beat furiously against her ribs and her breathing began to come in strange gasps. The giddiness that she had now come to associate with Bastian filled her, causing her hands to tremble. She didn’t know what she was feeling for the man yet but she knew that she had quickly become fond of him over the past few days. The memories of their difficult beginning were completely gone. Now, all she could remember were his smile and the warmth from his eyes. It was something she was coming to crave. Something about his genuine attention towards her, his kindness and interest in her opinion, had endeared him to her. The man was starting to get under her skin.

“Surely... surely you can do better than that,” she whispered, feeling bold and daring. “A kiss to the nose is something a parent would give to a child.”

Bastian’s lips broadened in a smile. “You would prefer a kiss that an adult gives to an adult?”

“Mayhap.”

His smile grew. “A kiss that a husband gives to a wife?”

“That would possibly be acceptable.”

Bastian didn’t hesitate. He lifted his hands, cupping her face between his big palms and swallowing up her entire head. Tilting his head slightly, his lips slanted over hers in a warm, sweet, and utterly delicious kiss. It was brief, for he did not want to make a spectacle of himself or of her, but he couldn’t resist. She was asking for him to kiss her, as a man kisses a woman, and he could not refuse her in any case. After a few moments of his tender, tantalizing kiss, he drew back to look at her.

“How was that?” he asked huskily.

Gisella was close to swooning. She had no idea how to answer him because he seemed to have sucked all of the thoughts right out of her head. Instinctively, she licked her lips, tasting him upon her flesh, and Bastian’s warm expression faded. Now, it was filled with lust. He dropped his hands from her and abruptly looked away.

“Great Bleeding Christ,” he hissed. “I wonder if anyone would notice if we were to leave at this moment?”

Dazed, Gisella blinked rapidly a few times, struggling to collect herself. “What... what do you mean?”

He meant that he wanted to go home and consummate this marriage that was becoming increasingly agreeable to him. He didn’t want to be here, sitting next to a boy-king, pretending he wasn’t upset that he’d been pulled off the battlefield to play nursemaid. He wanted to return to Braidwood with his wife and do what he should have done the night they were married. But, in a sense, he was glad they hadn’t consummated it. Now, it would mean something to him because
she
was coming to mean something to him. She was coming to mean a great deal to him, in fact. He was a fortunate man and he knew it.

“I suppose I would rather go back to Braidwood than be here,” he finally said, turning to look at her. “I would rather be brawling with Martin. And I would rather spend time with you.”

Gisella laughed softly and started to reply when there came a commotion over by the hall entry. Their attention turned towards the source of the disturbance in time to see Gloucester emerge from the shadowed entry followed by several of his men.

Like a returning prince, Gloucester made his way into the great hall that was full of diners and servants, greeting friends and fellow diners as he approached the dais. He soaked up the adoration in the room, the royal respect, perhaps pretending it was all for him. As the brother of a king and also the uncle of a king, he had always hoped for such veneration. As he approached the king’s table, he spied Bastian seated next to the king and his attention never wavered. It was fixed upon the knight.

“Bastian,” he said as he came upon the table. “I am pleased to find you here. How long have you been in London?”

After what Bastian had been told about Gloucester and his advances towards Gisella, he was feeling distinctly less magnanimous about him but he kept his manner even. Still, it was a bit of a struggle.

“We arrived earlier today, my lord,” he replied.

Gloucester took an empty cup and poured some wine into it. “And your father?” he asked. “How is he?”

Bastian watched the man drink. “Better than I had been led to believe,” he said. “He wants to come to London now. I told him he must wait until I settle into my duties here.”

Gloucester drained the cup, smacking his lips. “It would do Braxton good to come to London,” he said. “As it is, he is moldering away at West Court. Let him come to where the action is.”

Bastian wriggled his eyebrows in disagreement. “The last thing he needs is action,” he said. “But I would agree that coming to London might be beneficial for him. Moreover, I could spend some time with him. Seeing him so briefly made me realize just how much I have missed him.”

Gloucester poured himself more wine. “Then you should spend more time with him, of course,” he said, his attention shifting to young Henry. He smiled at the boy. “Good evening, Your Grace. Have you and Bastian become well acquainted?”

Henry’s mouth was full of cheese. “He knew my father,” he said, chewing. “We talked about my father this afternoon.”

Gloucester pretended to be interested. “Is that so?” he said. “Indeed, he knew your father well. He could probably tell you much that you did not know about your father.”

Henry looked at Bastian, who smiled faintly at the boy. But his mouth was full so he turned back to his food and Gloucester returned his attention to Bastian.

“Bas, do you have a moment?” he asked, indicating for Bastian to follow him. “I must speak with you. Briefly, of course. I will not keep you over long.”