Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (7 page)

They could see it from miles out as they approached, a massive structure silhouetted against the great half-moon in the sky. Situated along the Thames a few miles west of London, Bella Court was everything Bastian had heard it would be – a big, imposing, two-storied building full of light and surrounded by Gloucester’s guards. As he approached with Gannon and Lucas flanking him, they were met about a half-mile out by a gang of Gloucester mounted soldiers.

It was very nearly an ambush until Bastian announced himself. It took the soldiers a moment to realize who was in their midst.
The Beast
they whispered. A few of the men recognized him, breathing of a legend within their midst. Then, the overeager guards overcame their surprise and led the way to the palace, the structure looming big and bright before them as they entered the gated gardens.

Since this was not a functional military fortress but a palace of luxury and culture, there was no real bailey. Instead of a wide-open, muddy space of horses and men, there was a path that led to a small area of carefully-smoothed dirt in front of the main entry. It was surrounded by some of the most lavish gardens anyone had ever seen, well-lit by intermittent torches in iron cages shaped to look like a flower. The walls themselves had small towers on every corner for sentries, but there were no soldiers inside the walls. All of the soldiers were outside the walls. In fact, Bastian’s armed escort quickly left once they deposited him and his men at the front door. From there, the perfumed servants took over.

Even though it was evening, the front entry was lit by dozens of torches sending thick black smoke into the night sky. Men dressed in the fine blue silks of Gloucester met him and grooms offered to take the warhorses, which were muzzled by the knights before they were led away. The grooms were also warned to keep Gannon and Lucas’ horses apart lest they fight.

Even as three polite servants dressed in beautiful clothing wait patiently to lead them into the castle, Bastian took a moment to look over the structure. It was two-storied with detailed architecture and nearly every window on the second floor had the oriel feature, extending outward in ornate detail. The lower floor even had precious glass on every window he could see, emitting light from the interior that gave a ghostly glow out over the gardens. There were also detailed cherubs below the windows on the upper floor, painted in gold, and above the entry door was the Gloucester shield, painted in blue and gold.

Bastian had to admit that he was impressed with the sight. Removing the gauntlet on his left hand, he shook his head in wonder.

“You were correct,” he said to Lucas. “Heaven must be jealous of this place.”

On Bastian’s left, Lucas nodded his agreement. His eyes were glued to the palace walls, too. “Indeed,” he agreed. Then, he sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”

The third knight in the group spoke up. “Cloves,” Sir Gannon le Bec said in his deep, husky voice. “It is quite overwhelming.”

Bastian glanced at the big knight with the dark hair and bright blue eyes. “Incense,” he said, sniffing the air as he looked around. He pointed. “They are burning it in big bowls. That’s what you smell.”

The knights looked to see what he was pointing at. Indeed, big copper bowls could be seen below some of the ground floor windows, the contents smoldering. Gannon actually sneezed.

“God’s Beard,” he grunted. “It smells like a Parisian whorehouse.”

Lucas lifted an eyebrow at him. “And you would know, of course.”

Gannon cast him a long glance. “I would,” he said. “The one you recommended to me smelled just like this. They told me it was your favorite scent.”

Lucas started to laugh but Bastian shushed them both. “Enough,” he said, cutting short their levity. “Let us go inside now and seek Gloucester.”

Lucas and Gannon struggled to be serious. The truth was that they were both glad to have accompanied Bastian to Bella Court and were eager to see the interior of the place. Where there were sweet smells and luxury such as this, there were also refined women to go with it. Unattached women. As they moved forward with Bastian towards the three silk swaddled servants, one Gloucester man in his expensive costume lifted a hand to stop them.

“My lords,” he said in a high-pitched tone. “The Duchess of Gloucester forbids weapons and armor inside her halls. If you will attend me, I will show you where you can disrobe.”

Bastian’s brow furrowed. “I am
not
disrobing,” he said flatly. “Take me to Gloucester or I will go inside and find him myself.”

The servant visibly blanched. He was no match for three massive, battle-worn knights. “But Lady Gloucester’s instructions are clear, my lord,” he said. “I am very sorry, but I must insist.”

Bastian just looked at the man, who was quite literally half his size. Without another word, he reached out and pushed the servant aside, moving past him as the servant fell against the open entry door. Leaving the fearful and outraged servants in their wake, Bastian and his knights moved through a well-lit reception hall, following the sounds of conversation and music.

Smells of all kinds began to assault their senses as, off to their right, an enormous room came into view. It was full of people, tables and food, and they headed into the room without hesitation. But this was no ordinary room. It was so brightly lit that it was as if the room was bathed in pure sunlight from the dozens of torches that were ensconced in iron brackets against the walls. As the knights squinted in the bright light, an entirely new world opened up before them.

There were three massively long feasting tables, set up in a “U” shape, upon which delicacy after delicacy was placed. Giant cooked swans seemed to be the centerpiece for each table, set upon great wooden pedestals, but the white swan feathers had been replaced on the birds to create a lifelike look. There were even jewels for eyes. Gannon tapped Lucas on the arm with the back of his hand, pointing to the table nearest them which had a large marzipan subtlety, or pudding, in the shape of the Bella Court on it. Someone had carved off the western wing of it, but little flags still flew high on the towers, proclaiming Gloucester’s masterpiece.

But that wasn’t where the display of wealth ended. Each table, they could see, had feathered peacock and flowered eel dishes, and great golden salt cellars shaped like crowns complete with semi-precious stones. All the while, diners and guests were laughing, singing, and generally enjoying themselves until suddenly, from the western end of the hall, men in sparkling armored costumes with wooden horses entered the room, filling up the center of the “U” shape in front of the tables. As Bastian, Lucas, and Gannon watched with great curiosity, the costumed men, with their great rouged cheeks, began fighting each other with fake wooden swords.

It was clear now that they were watching a play. It was a bit chaotic, and they truly had no idea what was going on, when a woman abruptly descended from the gallery above, clinging to a red silken rope. She was dressed in a white garment that seemed to be flowing and loose, and her dark hair was braided and secured with silver cords, but when she flipped over and hung upside-down over the mock combatants, her great billowing garment fell away and the scant tunic and hose she wore beneath was rather shocking. Moreover, she had silver angel’s wings secured to her shoulders and she extended her arms gracefully, singing in haunting dulcet tones.

The diners went mad, clapping and cheering as she sang sweetly beautiful notes to the combatants below. The actors paused in their fighting to properly show awe to the angel singing over their heads, all with great flourish. They were either terrified of her or worshiping her, it was difficult to tell with all of the silly dramatics going on. Whatever story they were trying to convey wasn’t making any sense. Bastian, completely confused by the entire circumstance, scowled at his knights.

“What in the Hell is all of this?” he hissed. “What is going on here?”

Lucas shrugged, confused and rather put-off by all of it, but Gannon was riveted to the woman hanging from the red silken cord.

“God’s Bones,” he breathed. “It… it’s Gigi!”

Bastian heard him but he wasn’t clear on what the man was referring to. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Who is Gigi?”

Gannon pointed at the woman hanging from the cord, her body elegantly arched as she sang that sad, haunting melody. “There,” he said. “
That
is my sister. Gisella!”

Bastian’s head snapped around to the woman he was indicating. All he could see were shapely limbs and a rather provocatively arched body as the woman hung upside down, slowly spinning as the flowing tunic and elegantly coiffed hair draped around her. He was stunned. And appalled. Perhaps he was even the slightest bit intrigued. But, mostly, he was appalled. Unable to take his eyes off the woman, he moved towards the cluttered, gay tables.

“Where in the Hell is Gloucester?” he grumbled.

Lucas and Gannon sped after him, following him as he made his way deeper into the room, on the hunt for the Duke of Gloucester. Diners, noting the enormous, dirty knights in their midst, began to whisper and point, but Bastian didn’t notice and even if he did he would not have cared. He was singularly focused on finding Gloucester in the midst of the chaos. As he rounded the corner of one of the tables, his gaze came to rest on the man himself.

Gloucester was several feet away in conversation with someone Bastian didn’t recognize. Bastian hadn’t seen Gloucester in a year, however, and even though he recognized the man, he noted how badly he had aged during that time. The brown hair was turning shades of gray.
That’s what a wife will do to you
, he thought. Without reserve, he marched up on Gloucester and made sure the man saw him.

Gloucester couldn’t help but see Bastian, a man at least a head and shoulders taller than even the tallest man in the room. His enormous, imposing presence filled up all air and space. Gloucester was so surprised that he nearly dropped the golden chalice in his hand when he realized Bastian was in his midst. His thick lips opened in surprise.

“Bastian!” he gasped. Then, he laughed loudly and grasped Bastian by the arm. “By God’s Holy Rood, the Beast himself. I had heard your ships had docked in London but I truly did not expect to see you until tomorrow, old friend.”

Bastian was impatient and exhausted, a bad combination. It was a struggle to be polite. “Your Grace,” he greeted evenly. “I received word that you wanted to see me immediately. I did not delay.”

Humphrey of Lancaster, Duke of Gloucester, displayed all the signs of a man who was truly thrilled to see Bastian. He beamed at him and Gloucester was not a beaming man. Congenial at times, loyal, courageous, and scholarly, Humphrey embodied what a well-rounded prince should be. As the youngest son of Henry IV, he was close with his brothers, with his nephew the young king, and consequently close to the men who served them. He was particularly fond of Bastian.

“It is very agreeable to see you again,” Gloucester said. “You seem healthy and whole enough.”

Bastian nodded. “Indeed I am, Your Grace,” he said. “I am relieved to be back in England and hope to see my father very soon. He has not been well.”

The smile on Gloucester’s face faded somewhat. “I know,” he said. “Braxton de Russe was a very great knight, once. He served my father and then my brother flawlessly. I am sorry for his troubles.”

Bastian dipped his head in thanks. “As am I,” he replied. “Therefore, I should like to see him as soon as possible. If you would not mind coming to the point of your summons right away, I would be grateful.”

Gloucester was already in motion, complying with the request. He pulled Bastian along with him as he moved. “Come with me, then,” he said. “I shall not take much of your time, but it is important that we speak.”

Bastian directed Lucas and Gannon to remain in the hall with a simple hand gesture, following Gloucester as the man pulled him along, introducing him to guests as he went, pointing out the great de Russe knight known as Beast and watching the expressions on the diners’ faces. Soon enough, everyone was whispering about de Russe and pointing in his direction as Gloucester dragged him through the well-lit, fragrant hall. As they passed by the last long table in the “U” formation, Bastian pointed to the actors still on the floor before them.

“May I ask what goes on, Your Grace?” he asked the duke. “My knights and I were attempting to figure it out.”

Gloucester paused, a sly grin on his lips as he watched what had once again become mock combat. “Do you not know King Richard and the fall of Acre when you see it?” he asked, lightly done. “My wife enjoys entertainment, so nearly every night we have some manner of performance. Tonight, it will be a re-enactment of Richard’s victory over Saladin. This will go on for most of the night. Count yourself fortunate that you must leave.”

Bastian glanced at the duke and, seeing that the man was smiling, he gave the man a half-grin. “I am very sorry I will miss it, Your Grace.”

“Nay, you are not.”

“Nay, I am not.”

Gloucester snorted. Then, he pointed to the performance as a wooden ship of some kind, brightly painted, emerged from a corner of the room. There were men walking the ship into the hall, men who were also dressed as the ship’s crew, and they began firing mock arrows at the men in mortal combat.