Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (38 page)

Displeased to the point of brooding, Bastian headed for his tent with Wellesbourne, Martin, Gannon, and Lucas in tow. It was a powerful group, including the Duke of Warminster, which ended up congregating in Bastian’s tent, waiting for Suffolk to return. Henry was in the tent with Brant as the knights filed in, appearing particularly anxious when he saw Bastian appear.

As much as Bastian wanted to ignore the boy to display his displeasure with the king’s command, he couldn’t in good conscience do it. The boy was only doing what he felt best, in this case, what his heart dictated. He hadn’t enough experience to really understand the minds of men and the mind of Bastian in particular, so everything he did at this point in his life was based on the tender feelings of a young boy. When Bastian saw the apprehensive expression on Henry’s face, he went straight to the young king to ease any fears.

“Your Grace,” he greeted steadily. “I understand Suffolk was here.”

Henry nodded nervously. “He was,” he said. “Did… did Warminster tell you what happened?”

Bastian wanted to scowl at the boy but refrained. He didn’t want to frighten the young king who was only now learning to find his own voice.

“Aye, Your Grace,” he said as neutrally as he could. “I understand that I am not allowed to kill de la Pole.”

Henry nodded, studying Bastian’s face to see any hint of displeasure and there was none. It made him feel a bit better.

“I have been thinking, Sir Bastian,” he said seriously. “I do not want my warlords to fight. I want them to be friends. This is important to the survival of my kingdom. If you kill Sir Thomas, then you and Suffolk will not be friends.”

Bastian could see the simplicity of Henry’s thought processes but none of what he said was untrue. In fact, it was rather intuitive. Bastian realized he had no choice in any of this and to try to persuade the king differently would only confuse the boy. The child had enough people bullying him and telling what to do. He didn’t need to hear it from someone he was coming to trust a great deal. Glancing at Brant, standing behind the boy, he could see that his cousin was thinking the exact same thoughts that he was. Bastian had no choice.

“Nay, Your Grace, we would not be friends,” he said, resignation in his tone. “What punishment would you have me give Sir Thomas? Surely you have made a decision on that.”

Henry’s brow furrowed in thought. “I have given it a good deal of consideration,” he said. “The Bible calls for an eye for an eye in such cases of men offending men. I would say that you should deal the same blow to Sir Thomas that he dealt to your wife. That would give you satisfaction and then you would not have to kill him.”

At first, Bastian thought the suggestion to be quite ridiculous but the more he thought on it, the more he realized that it wasn’t a bad suggestion at all. He could hit a lot harder than de la Pole could. Aye, it wasn’t such a bad suggestion after all. He could deliver a blow that would render the man unconscious for hours, if not days. He realized that he rather liked that. He was going to smash de la Pole’s face in and take great glee in doing so. The man would certainly suffer a lot more than if he was to kill him outright. With those thoughts in mind, Bastian nodded his head to the king’s directive.

“Aye, Your Grace,” he said. “I will agree to an eye for an eye.”

Henry was vastly relieved that Bastian acquiesced to his wishes. He watched Bastian move to the other side of the tent and stand there, waiting in the shadows for Suffolk and his brother to make an appearance. As Henry returned his attention to the map he and Brant had been studying, they could hear distant arguing.

More than arguing, it was a scuffle. They could recognize Suffolk’s voice and then another tense voice, assumed to be his brother. There were some grunts involved and even a yelp. Bastian, standing off to the side, looked curiously at Wellesbourne, who returned his puzzled expression. But, unlike Bastian who remained serious, Wellesbourne was biting off a grin. Especially when they heard what sounded like a slap. Wellesbourne broke into soft laughter and Martin, standing over near his brother, had to actually turn his head away so the others would not see his grin. More scuffling, more agitated voices, and Suffolk appeared at the tent flap dragging his brother by the hair.

The knights wiped the smiles off their faces even though it was quite funny to see the Earl of Suffolk dragging his reluctant brother by the hair to face his punishment. But Henry was astonished and concerned. He jumped out of his chair and ran to Suffolk.

“What are you doing to him?” he wanted to know. “Why are you hurting him?”

Suffolk didn’t let his brother go as the man struggled in his grasp. “I found him running off across the inner ward, Your Grace,” he said. “He was running to the stables in the hope of escaping. I was forced to subdue him to bring him to face his punishment.”

“That… that woman hit me first!” Thomas spat, facing the ground from the way his brother was holding him. “I will not be punished for defending myself!”

The knights looked uneasily at Bastian. The man had promised not to kill Thomas but if the man kept talking, and especially if he poorly referenced Lady de Russe, then he might wish he was dead once Bastian finished with him. Suffolk yanked on his brother’s dark hair.

“Silence,” he hissed. “You are in the presence of the king. Still your tongue, you fool.”

Thomas only marginally settled down. He was still furious and terrified. He also couldn’t see the king from the angle of his head, and he couldn’t see Bastian either, but he knew both men were in the tent, looking at him, and he intended to defend himself.

“Lady de Russe struck me,” he declared. “Am I not allowed to protect myself?”

Henry frowned as he watched the young lord twist and struggle in his brother’s grip. “You said terrible things about Sir Bastian,” he said. “She struck you because you were being mean and hateful. You did not have to hit her back.”

Thomas tried to twist his head so that he could see the king. “Your Grace,” he said, his tone considerably sweeter as he address the monarch. “I was merely concerned about a man with de Russe’s reputation being so close to you. We all know of the rumors that surround him. There must be some truth to them or we would not have heard so many. A man who sided with the Maid of Orleans should not be so close to you, Your Grace. It is only you I am concerned with, I swear it.”

Henry was still frowning. “I have asked Sir Bastian about these rumors,” he said. “I now know those rumors to be false. It is not your place to say who is close to me and who is not. I do not
want
you
close to me anymore. I do not like you, for you are unkind. I have given Sir Bastian permission to punish you.”

Thomas’s anger turned to fear. “He will kill me, Your Grace!”

Henry shook his head. “I have ordered him not to,” he said. “But he will punish you in the same fashion as your actions against his wife. He will strike you in the face and then this will be finished.”

Thomas began to howl. “Not my face!” he cried. “He will disfigure me for life! Nay, Your Grace, I beg you – not my face!”

Henry could see that the man was hysterical and it concerned him. Was he being too hard on the man? Uncertain now, he turned to look at Bastian, who could see the young king was in danger of changing his mind. Quickly, he broke from his stance and marched over to Thomas, who was bent in half by his brother’s strong-arm tactics. Bending over so that Thomas could see his face, he spoke quietly.

“You will take your punishment without another word,” he said, his voice low so that only Suffolk could hear him. “If you do not take it like a man, when this is over, I will track you down, slit your throat, and toss you into the river. You will obey the king just as I will and this shall be finished. If you drag it out, it will cost you your life. Is this in any way unclear?”

Thomas was absolutely terrified, but not so terrified that he didn’t understand that a worse fate await him if he did not accept his punishment as the king dictated. He whimpered at the sight of de Russe’s angry face.

“What are you going to do?” he rasped.

Bastian stood up straight and motioned to Suffolk. “Let your brother go,” he said. Then, he focused on Thomas again. “Stand up straight and face me.”

Suffolk obediently released him and Thomas, hunched over, struggled to stand up as ordered. He cowered as he faced Bastian.

“What… what are you going to do?” Thomas stammered.

Bastian glanced at his knights, motioning them out of the tent. Although he wanted to humiliate Thomas in the worst way, it was a show of consideration to Suffolk not to have his brother’s humiliation made public. When his knights filed out, leaving only Aramis and Brant in the tent along with Henry and Suffolk, Bastian focused on Thomas.

“It is a lowly and cowardly man who would strike a woman,” he said, his voice quiet and threatening. “Never mind that it was my wife. Any man who takes a hand to any woman is the lowest of the low. With that in mind, mayhap you will remember this punishment the next time you have the urge to strike a woman. If I hear of you doing such a thing again, no matter what woman it is, I will find you and I will punish you again. You are a fool and a pig, de la Pole. Remember this day that your life was saved by a young king who did not want the House of de Russe at odds with Suffolk. Henry has saved your worthless hide.”

With that, he lashed out a massive fist and caught Thomas, unaware, squarely in the face. The man went sailing backwards, crashing into the map table, and collapsing it as Henry shrieked with surprise. In a pile of wood on the floor of the tent, Thomas didn’t move. He was out cold with a broken nose and possibly a broken cheek as well. Blood began to pour out of his nose.

With a heavy sigh, Suffolk went to his brother and rolled him onto his side so he would not choke to death on his own blood. Still amongst the pieces of broken wood, Suffolk looked down at his unconscious sibling before turning his attention to Bastian.

“Satisfied, de Russe?” he asked, some distress in his tone.

Bastian watched the blood leak out of Thomas’ face. “Indeed,” he said. “My debt has been satisfied. My thanks, Lord William, for your complicity in allowing me to seek justice for my wife. I will have some of my men help you return your brother to the keep.”

It was over as simply as that. Bastian went to the tent flap and had Martin send him a few soldiers to assist. Bastian also noticed that Aramis was speaking to a messenger bearing the de Russe colors but he didn’t give it much thought. There were soldiers everywhere bearing de Russe colors. Unconcerned, he stood aside while three of his soldiers came into the tent and lifted de la Pole out of the debris from the table and carried him out into the warm weather day.

Suffolk followed without another word to Bastian or any type of acknowledgement. He simply followed the men as they carried his brother towards the great gatehouse of Wallingford. Bastian watched them go before returning his attention to his tent.

Henry was still standing next to the destroyed table, looking rather shocked at it all. He thought he’d spared Thomas quite a lot by ordering Bastian not to kill him but it turned out that Bastian could do a great deal of damage with his fists. The boy was astonished and, if he thought about it, his respect for Bastian’s skills multiplied. To have such power at his disposal was an awesome thought. Bastian was indeed a worthy protector.

Brant, standing behind the king, was untroubled by any of it. He felt a good deal of satisfaction watching de la Pole suffer. Reaching down, he began picking up pieces of the shattered table.

“I am not sure this is repairable,” he said. “We can use it for firewood tonight.”

Bastian shook his head. “My task is finished here and we will be heading home shortly,” he said. “In fact, go and spread the word to close up the camp. I would like to be moving within the hour if possible. I am anxious to go home.”

Brant nodded, heading out into the bright day beyond. Bastian remained by the tent flap, studying the young king who still seemed overwhelmed by what he had just seen. He thought the boy might need some reassurance that his decisions regarding the situation had been the right ones because, at the moment, he could see the child’s distress.

“Your Grace,” he said softly. “Your wisdom was sound in this matter. I was able to satisfy my debt of honor and Suffolk retained his brother’s life. You should not trouble yourself over this any longer.”

Henry looked at him, his brows knitted together in confusion. “But… you hit him very hard,” he said.

Bastian nodded. “I did. But he is not dead.”

“But he was unconscious.”

Bastian shrugged. “I have been unconscious before,” he said. “It happens. But men heal.”

“Did you hurt your hand?”

Bastian looked at the knuckles of his left hand. There wasn’t a scratch. “Nay, Your Grace,” he said, a twinkle of humor in his eye that the boy should be concerned about his hand. “My hand is uninjured, thank you for asking.”

Henry wasn’t so sure that Bastian’s hand was in one piece or the fact that anyone could recover from a blow like the one Bastian had delivered, but as he opened his mouth to reply, Aramis entered the tent.

“Bastian,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You must return to Braidwood immediately. Something terrible has happened.”

Bastian turned to his uncle, seeing the man looked quite pale. It took Bastian a moment to process what his uncle had said and fear seized him. Horror on his features, he reached out and grabbed his uncle by the arm.