Epilogue #3
Richmond stopped scowling at the man, a grin breaking forth.
“How could Gannon condemn you when he himself is guilty of such a thing,” he said.
Then, he slapped Bastian on the shoulder.
“I am truly happy to finally meet you, de Russe. Gloucester had told me a great deal about you. He thinks a great deal of you, which was why it was difficult to turn down his proposal of a marital contract between you and my daughter. But I have also heard rumors about you and the Maid of Orleans, which have been rather confusing.”
Bastian sighed faintly. He had expected as much. The rumors about him and the Maid continued even though it had been almost two years since that tragic event. He resigned himself to the inevitable interrogation from a concerned father.
“What do you wish to know about my association with her?” he asked. “I will tell you all you wish to know.”
Richmond believed him. His gaze was steady on the man.
He really couldn’t imagine that what he heard was true.
Sometimes great men were maligned through jealousy, political agendas, and more.
He knew well about the politics of war, for he had been deeply entrenched in them, once.
Moreover, he doubted his son would swear fealty to a man that was anything less than honorable and worthy.
Gannon’s loyalty to de Russe told Richmond all he needed to know.
Now, he was coming to feel a bit foolish.
“Was she really six feet tall with arms as big around as tree trunks?” he asked. “I heard that about her. Any woman who leads an army must be a fearsome thing, indeed.”
Bastian wasn’t expecting that question. After a moment, he burst out laughing. “Nay, my lord,” he said. “She was tiny, like your daughter. Is that all you really wish to know?”
Richmond nodded his head, laying an affectionate hand on his son’s shoulder. “For now,” he said. “Meanwhile, let us retreat into the manse and get better acquainted. I would like to hear about your adventures in France. Were you there for Henry’s Coronation?”
Bastian grunted as they began to head towards the house. “I was indeed present for the young king’s coronation in December, one year past, in Paris,” he said. “As the King’s Protector, it was my duty to attend, which your daughter did not take kindly to. She did not wish to be separated from me.”
Richmond cast him a sidelong glance. “How did you feel about it?”
Bastian smiled faintly. “I was in France for a month,” he said. “I should have been there for three. I did not wish to be separated from her, either.”
“Are you still the King’s Protector?”
Bastian shrugged. “In title only,” he replied.
“I hand-picked a contingent of guards who now watch over the young king, although I do spend some time with him. Mostly, my days are spent with Gloucester and Beaufort. There are great issues at hand now. The young king wants peace. Beaufort is even inclined for peace. Negotiations with the French have stalled for the most part. Gloucester wants me back in France and I am afraid that is where I may be headed in the summer.”
Richmond mulled over the issues facing Bastian. “In my day, it was Henry Percy and Owen Glyndower in Wales,” he said softly. “Such madness. Such wasteful madness. With you, it is France.”
Bastian knew the history of the Glyndower rebellion well.
When he was a squire, he’d had a master who had fought those wars and who had told many stories about the heroics.
He’d also told another story about le Bec, something Bastian had always wondered about.
He was standing next to the man that very story, that very curiosity, centered around.
“I’d heard tale, once, that it was you who brought down Hotspur,” he said quietly, glancing at Richmond. “Is there truth in this?”
Richmond’s expression grew distant as he remembered those great and terrible days when Henry Percy and Northumberland turned against the young king’s grandfather. He’d spent many years battling the Welsh, as well as the English, in those days.
“I heard something about you, too,” he countered softly, eyeing Bastian. “Did you really bed the Maid?”
Bastian shook his head firmly. “I did not.”
“Then it was I who killed Hotspur. Truth begets truth, Sir Bastian.”
They came to a halt at the entry to the manse, each man appraising the other. Now, they were coming to understand that, in many ways, they were kindred spirits, each man with rumors and legends that followed them. Bastian smiled faintly.
“I wish my father could have met you,” he said softly. “He died right after Gisella and I were married. He had the greatest admiration for you.”
Richmond’s bright blue eyes twinkled faintly. “As I will come to have the same admiration for his son, I am sure.”
By this time, Gannon had already entered the manse, lured by the smells of food. He knew he would have plenty of time to reminisce with his father, telling him of his adventures since he last saw him. But now, it was time for Richmond and Bastian to become acquainted, from one warrior to another.
Old knights never really die. That was what Bastian was thinking as he gazed upon a man who faintly resembled his wife. A living legend, he thought. I am gazing at a living legend.
“I have more truths to tell you, should you care to listen,” Bastian said after a moment. “I never had the opportunity to tell my own father this and I should have very much liked to. You are the closest thing I have to a father now. I feel… I know that I can trust you.”
Richmond nodded. “I would be honored, Sir Bastian.”
“Just Bastian.”
Richmond smiled. “Bastian, then,” he agreed. “What is this truth about?”
Bastian smiled in return. “This truth is about a heart,” he said. “The heart of a warrior and a patriot, something both of us understand well.”
Richmond understood the story of the Maid’s heart completely.
He assured Bastian that, if he had been in Bastian’s position, he would have done the exact same thing.
Honor transcends kings and countries, he told Bastian.
As long as you are honorable to yourself and to your vows, you shall remain a true and noble man.
No one can ever take that away from you.
Great and noble men, and great knights, never did die.
Bastian came to understand that during the next month he spent coming to know the complex and warm character of Sir Richmond le Bec.
The legend of le Bec, and ultimately the legend of the mighty Beast, would always live on so long as men continued to tell their mighty and gallant tales from one generation to the next.
They were the immortals.
* THE END *