Chapter Twenty-Three #2
Gloucester sighed heavily, glancing at Aramis to see what the man might be thinking.
The entire family was traumatized by Braxton’s death.
Gloucester could see that. He wasn’t so sure that it was a good idea for the young king to travel with a knight who was grieving the loss of his father.
He was fearful that Henry would not be given the attention and protection he deserved if Bastian was too distracted with his own sorrows.
After a moment of deliberation, he finally shook his head.
“Nay, Bas, I cannot allow it,” he said. “Henry will return with me to London. We will see you upon your return.”
It was a final decision and Bastian didn’t counter.
Any more reasoning and it would sound as if he were begging.
So he let it go, wondering how Henry was going to take the news.
Going to Winchester had been very important to him.
Bastian knew how disappointed the lad would be.
Excusing himself from Gloucester, he made his way over to Henry.
The young king was still sitting next to the hearth, sipping on the last of his warmed milk when Bastian approached him.
“Come with me, Your Grace,” he said softly.
Henry immediately set his warmed milk aside and ran after Bastian as the man cleared the room. The two of them ended up in the reception room as Bastian headed for his wife. Seeing Bastian and the king coming, Gisella stood up to greet them.
“Your Grace,” she greeted Henry.
Henry truly liked Gisella. He immediately took her hand as Bastian’s gaze moved over his wife, the king, and finally to the ladies seated in their comfortable chairs, who were now standing because Gisella was. They had met the king earlier.
“Ladies,” Bastian addressed his aunts and sister.
“I fear it has been a very long and tiring day for us all so I will excuse my wife and me for the night. Elizabetta, I will call on you in the future so that we may spend some time together. Mayhap I shall bring Henry so that he and Aderyn can socialize.”
He mentioned that because his niece had already sidled up to Henry, eyeing the boy and also eyeing Gisella as Henry held the woman’s hand.
It was clear that she was very interested in him while Henry mostly frowned when he looked at her.
Aderyn was not deterred as she laid her head against Henry’s arm, gazing up at him rather sweetly.
Terrified, Henry looked at Bastian for help.
“Sir Bastian…?”
Elizabetta was the one to pull her daughter away as Bastian grinned, finding humor in the young king’s terror.
“She admires you a great deal, Your Grace,” Elizabetta said. “She is very friendly and very bright. She loves to play games if you should ever like to do so.”
Henry wasn’t sure about playing games with a young girl. He had rather liked playing games with an old man who had let him win. Unsure how to respond, he simply turned to Bastian, gazing up at the man and expecting him to answer for him. But Bastian’s gaze was steady and encouraging.
“You should thank my sister for her gracious offer, Your Grace,” he said.
Henry turned back towards Elizabetta, although he was still frowning. “I… I only like to play games with Sir Braxton,” he said. “And Lady Sparrow, too. I do not like to play baby games.”
It wasn’t a gracious statement at all and Bastian cleared his throat softly, narrowing his eyes with disapproval as the young king turned to look at him.
“I am afraid our king is quite exhausted after a busy day,” he said by way of an apology. “In fact, we will all retire for the night. Good sleep to you all.”
Elizabetta hugged her brother tightly, as did Lady Beatrice. Elizabetta even hugged Gisella.
“I do hope we get to know one another better,” Elizabetta said. “I am looking forward to having another sister.”
Gisella’s weary smile turned genuine. “As am I,” she said. “I hope to see you very soon.”
Elizabetta squeezed her hands, letting go as her brother took both his wife and the young king upstairs. Indeed, it had been an eventful and exhausting day for all.
It was quiet and somewhat dark upstairs.
The broken doors and window frames had been mostly repaired by the local carpenters while the family had been attending Braxton’s funeral.
The smell of fresh wood from the carpenter’s repairs was heavy in the air.
Bastian took Henry into the chamber that had been occupied by Braxton, one that had been considerably cleaned up when they had been away for the mass.
The mattress was new, stuffed with straw and great rolls of soft, spongy wool, and new linens made up the bed. As Bastian blew out one of the two banks of tapers in the room, Henry stood in the doorway, next to Gisella. He gazed at the room with a mixture of sorrow and apprehension.
“Is… is this where Sir Braxton died?” he asked Gisella.
She nodded sadly. “Aye,” she replied. “He went to sleep and never woke up.”
Henry looked at her. “He will not mind if I sleep in his bed, will he?”
Bastian answered. “He would be happy and grateful for you to sleep in his bed,” he replied. “You need not fear. Do you remember sleeping here a few nights ago? Gisella and I will be through the dressing room door should you need us.”
Henry nodded, eyeing the bed. Timidly, he pushed on the mattress, seeing that it was fresh and soft. He could smell the straw. Then, he turned to Bastian.
“When will we leave for Winchester?” he asked. “On the morrow?”
Bastian drew in a long, slow breath, one of reluctance. “Gisella and I will leave at dawn,” he said. “But Gloucester has denied you. You must return to the Tower with him.”
Henry features washed with panic. “But you said I could go!”
Bastian nodded patiently. “And if it was my decision alone, you could,” he replied. “But Gloucester overruled me. He does not want you to go.”
Henry was near tears. “Did you tell him we were going to Etonbury?”
“I did.”
“And he still denied me?”
“I am afraid he did.”
Henry was distraught. He plopped down on the bed, struggling not to cry. “But… but this is so important to me,” he said. “How can God know of my penitence if he does not see me help you bury the relic? He will think I do not care!”
Gisella went to sit next to the boy. “That is not true,” she said softly. “We will offer up prayers on behalf of the Maid and on behalf of you. We will explain to God why you could not come. He will understand.”
Henry looked at the woman, tears in his eyes. “But I need to do this,” he whispered. “My armies killed her. People who say they serve me killed her. I did not tell them to kill her. I am sorry that they did and God must know that. The Maid must know that, too. I must have her forgiveness as well.”
Gisella put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.
“I promise that I will explain to God why you could not come,” she said.
“I will tell him that you did not tell your men to kill her. Bastian knew her very well. Let us ask Bastian if he supposes the Maid would understand that you did not order your men to kill her.”
They both looked to Bastian, who was standing by the corner of the bed.
When Gisella spoke those few words, he thought back to the woman he knew, that poor woman huddled in her cold and dank cell, unafraid of death because she knew her cause had been true.
Poor Henry was young and so much of this kingdom that belonged to him was out of his control.
He was a very religious boy, very pious, much as the Maid had been. Forgiveness was part of their beliefs.
“Do you want to hear of something that no one else knows?” he asked softly. “Not even my father knew of this.”
Henry nodded although Gisella wasn’t so sure. She had been dealt quite a few revelations over the past few days and her heart wasn’t as strong as it usually was, especially with her husband speaking on his relationship with another woman. Oblivious to her reservations, Bastian continued.
“The day before she was put to death, I asked the Maid if she wanted me to help her escape,” he said softly.
“She had tried before, you know, but I had always captured her and brought her back. I realize now that I should have let her go, but I am sure she would have been captured again. It was inevitable. Do you know what she told me when I offered to help her escape?”
Both Henry and Gisella were listening quite eagerly. “What did she say?” Henry demanded.
Bastian sighed. “She told me that it was foolish,” he said quietly.
“She told me that she was grateful for my offer but that it was futile and that she was not afraid to die. She accepted her fate, you see, as God’s will.
She was forgiving to me and to all else.
Much like Christ, she was destined to die for her beliefs.
You have asked me if I believe the Maid would forgive you for your role in her death and I can tell you without a doubt that she already has. She forgave you before you even asked.”
Henry didn’t know if he felt better or worse about that. “She was kind, wasn’t she?”
“She was very kind.”
Henry seemed to calm after that. He was still marginally distressed but not nearly what he had been. Now, he simply appeared sad. It was a lot to weigh on the mind of a nine-year-old boy.
“But I very much wanted to go with you,” he said, trying one last time to see if Bastian would somehow allow it. “I must seek her forgiveness myself and help you bury her heart.”
Bastian shook his head. “I am very sorry that you cannot,” he said. “But I will make sure God knows of your sorrow for what happened. I swear it.”
There wasn’t much more to say after that. Henry sat on the end of the bed as Gisella kissed his forehead and stood up, accompanying Bastian through the dressing room and to the chamber on the other side.