Chapter Twenty #2
“Do you think it is right to tell Sir Bastian not to kill Sir Thomas?” he asked. “Sir Bastian is very angry at Sir Thomas for striking his wife but I do not believe Sir Thomas should be killed for it.”
Brant gazed down at the boy who was trying hard not only to understand the minds of men, but to make decisions for them.
It was so much more complicated than ordering one man not to kill another, but in Henry’s mind, it was something he’d not come to understand yet.
He still had a lot of learning to do on the ways of men. Brant shrugged faintly.
“I cannot say how Bastian will feel, Your Grace,” he said. “But I believe your decision is a sound one.”
“Why?”
“Because if Bastian kills Thomas, there will forever be bad blood between Bastian and Suffolk. No one wants that.”
Henry felt more confident in his decision now. “The men who serve me must learn to get along with each other,” he said. “But Sir Thomas caused the problem. I will send him away.”
Brant thought that was a reasonable decision. “That would be wise, Your Grace.”
Henry looked at him, surprised. “I am wise?”
Brant smiled faintly. “You are most certainly learning to be, Your Grace.”
Happy, and feeling proud, Henry returned to the map on the table that he and Brant had been studying. It was a map of Berkshire and the surrounding countryside and he was learning a great deal about his landholders there.
Meanwhile, outside the tent, one of his landholders, one Sir Bastian de Russe, was not particularly happy with the wisdom of his young king.
*
“He what?” Bastian nearly bellowed.
Aramis put his hand on the man’s arm to calm him down. “Henry has ordered you not to kill Sir Thomas,” he repeated. “He promised Suffolk. He told the man if he produced his brother, he promised that you would not kill him. You cannot go against his wishes, Bastian, so you may as well live with it.”
Bastian was glaring at his uncle as if wanting to throttle the man but he knew he was only carrying out the king’s wishes.
Bastian had been standing in his circle of knights when Aramis had approached so all of the knights, including Wellesbourne, heard the king’s decree through Aramis’ lips.
Andrew even put his hand on Bastian’s arm in a soothing gesture or, more truthfully, took hold of him so he would not slug his uncle out of sheer outrage.
“You did not want to kill Thomas, anyway,” Andrew said to Bastian. “If you did, you and Suffolk would forever be at odds and that would not bode well for anyone.”
Bastian turned to him, scowling. “So now I have the child-king declaring his wishes and I am not permitted to seek justice for what de la Pole did to my wife,” he snapped.
Seeing the expression on Wellesbourne’s face, he realized that he sounded like a madman so he took a deep breath and struggled to calm.
“I suppose Henry’s decisions worked well enough for me when they were in my favor, however.
Still, this does not make me happy. Not in the least.”
Aramis clapped him on the shoulder. “Let us retreat to your command tent,” he said. “Suffolk will bring his brother there.”
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.”