Chapter Eight #3
Garran thought on the words. Nay, it was not too much to ask, but it was a decision that would change Garran’s life one way or the other.
All he knew was that he could not lift his sword in battle against his father, yet he could not support a king he did not like.
With a sigh, he kissed his father’s head and let him go.
“I must think on it,” he said, moving away from the older man. “I cannot give you an answer right away. I must think on what you have said and reason it out in my own mind.”
Bose watched his son as the man sat heavily on the small cot. “I am leaving Oxford tomorrow morning,” he said quietly. “I would like you to leave with me, so do not wait too long to give me your answer.”
Garran felt dull inside, dull and torn. His mind was in turmoil as he glanced up at his father. “Why so soon?” he said. “You can make it to London in plenty of time if you wait a day or two to leave Oxford.”
Bose shook his head. “I am meeting up with Grayson de Winter and his sons,” he replied. “You know Grayson and Davyss and Hugh, of course.”
“I do.”
“Grayson has asked that I join with them in two days just outside of London. I have agreed.”
It was more stunning news. The de Winters were the muscle for the crown, much as the de Sheras were the muscle for de Montfort. Now, Garran’s father was going to be part of the king’s muscle, too. Garran simply shook his head, astonished.
“You know that Grayson and Davyss are very close to the de Sheras,” he said. “Grayson de Winter is Gallus’ godfather and Davyss is Gallus’ best friend. And now you join them?”
Bose nodded faintly. “I do,” he said. “My son, as I said before, you do not have to agree with Henry’s philosophies.
I am not even sure I do. But the crown must be kept intact from these men who are attempting to destroy it.
To destroy Henry will destroy England. Is that what you want? More anarchy and a fractured country?”
Garran wasn’t sure what he wanted. It was too much information, too much to think about, and his mind was reeling. He lifted his hands, shaking his head as if to ward off what his father was telling him.
“You must give me time to think,” he begged softly. “Can we not put this aside for a few hours and share a meal? I would like to hear of my mother and sisters. I miss them. Can we not speak on more pleasant things, at least for the next few hours?”
Bose relented, mostly because he didn’t want to force Garran into making a quick decision that they would both regret. He had said all he wanted to say and there was nothing more he could do. Garran would either side with him or he wouldn’t. So he nodded, smiling weakly.
“This place has terrible food and even worse company,” he said. “We should go somewhere with better food and less whores.”
Garran burst out chuckling. “Why did you pick this place to stay, anyway?” he wanted to know. “This is the worst tavern in the city.”
Bose shrugged. “I was tired when we arrived in town and this was available,” he said.
“But if I receive another proposition by a woman who wants to kiss me where I pee, then I will collect all of my possessions and flee the city entirely. But please do not ever tell your mother I stayed here. She would then kick me where I pee and I should be a very sad man.”
Garran was laughing so hard that he could barely breathe. His father was usually such a stately, austere man that to hear him speak so crudely, and so humorously, was one of the best things he had ever experienced. He put his hands to his face as he howled with laughter.
“You are becoming very funny in your old age, Papa,” he snorted, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Very well, then. We shall find a better place to eat with less whores. I do not want Mother to go on a rampage against you. Shall we invite Tiberius to go with us?”
Bose was standing up, laboriously, as his old muscles tended to tighten up on him. “Of course,” he replied. “I rather like young Tiberius. He is a wise and witty man.”
Garran sobered as he helped his father gain his cloak. “Aye, he is,” he replied, thinking on the de Shera brothers, men he was very attached to. “He is a good friend.”
They were heading for the door when Bose stopped, putting a hand on Garran’s arm. His expression was sincere in its sorrow and resolve.
“Please know that I am sorry I had to come to Oxford with all of this,” he said quietly. “I would not have come had I not felt strongly about it.”
Garran gazed into the face of the man he loved very, very much. “I know,” he muttered. “But let us not speak on it, at least for the afternoon. I want to become reacquainted with my papa again without the threat of war hanging over our heads.”
“Agreed.”
With that, Garran and Bose headed out into the corridor, finding Tiberius standing over near the old staircase.
Tiberius went along with the de Morays as they went in search of a better place to feast, having no idea what had transpired between father in son.
It was better that way. Had he known, he would have been just as unhappy as Garran was.
This was a situation that no one could win.