Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (17 page)

It was a warm moment between them, something rare and new and tremulous, but it was something they both found agreeable. The padded tunic came off in the middle of this sweet moment and he threw it to the floor, grunting with relief. Gisella, seated within a few feet of him, caught a terrible whiff of body odor, so bad that she nearly gasped as the invisible wave of noxious fumes washed over her. But she caught herself from audibly reacting, coughing instead to cover the gaff. As she politely cleared her throat and tried not to breathe through her nose, Bastian sniffed the stained, dirty linen tunic that was still on his body.

“Great Bleeding Christ,” he hissed. “I smell as if I have been dead for three months. My apologies, my lady. I have been traveling for over a week wearing the same clothing. I did not realize how rotten I smelled until this very moment.”

Gisella did the polite thing. She downplayed the stench. “I did not notice, my lord.”

He cast her a long glance. “You are kind to say so, but unless you have no sense of smell, it would be impossible to miss this horrific odor I seem to be emitting,” he said. “I should bathe before I knock you over with it.”

Gisella giggled as he moved across the room, to another door, and opened it. Beyond was a small room that contained a privy and a big, iron tub. Gisella could see it through the open door. Bastian began to bang about inside, rummaging around in a small cabinet, before opening another door that evidently opened out into the corridor. He began shouting for hot water and soap, and Gisella could hear feet scurrying in the corridor outside of the room.

As she sat there and watched, servants began entering the dressing room where Bastian was still rummaging around. The servants brought soap, towels, and buckets of hot water eventually started coming. A servant even entered the bedchamber and picked up Bastian’s filthy padded tunic and took it out. There was quite a bit of bustle going on around the room and Gisella watched with waning curiosity because her attention kept drifting to the massive pillared bed over near the windows. It was very large, certainly large enough for a man of Bastian’s size with room to spare, and the more she looked at it, the more her exhaustion had the better of her.

Bastian was in the dressing room, telling the servants to hurry filling his tub, as Gisella rose from her chair and nearly staggered to the bed. She put her hands on it, feeling its softness, and she could wait no more. She thought perhaps to lay down on the top of the coverlet, simply to rest her eyes while Bastian bathed the stink from his body, but the moment she crawled onto the bed and lay her head on the pillow, sleep overwhelmed her and she entered a dark, liquid world where dreams of a big knight with blue eyes seemed to linger in her mind.

It was the beginning of more dreams to come.

Westminster Abbey

London

“But I saw him with my own eyes, Your Grace. He took a piece of the Maid.”

It was just after Vespers on a rainy evening in London. Father James d’Joseph had been cornered by a soldier who had just returned from France that very night, part of the Duke of Bedford’s contingent, and the man had spent nearly an hour confessing his sins, most of which had to do with putting the Maid to death. The soldier had not only witnessed it but he had been part of the contingent that had jailed the Maid. He was directly under Sir Bastian de Russe’s command, the Beast of Bedford as he was sometimes called, but the story the soldier had told was something odd and disturbing. As the rain fell and the lightning flashed, Father James simply shook his head at the young and wild-eyed soldier.

“A man of de Russe’s caliber would not do such a thing,” the priest assured the soldier. “I am sure you did not see what you thought you saw.”

The soldier shook his head firmly. “I saw him,” he insisted. “When we were tossing her remains into the Seine, we swept up all of her ashes and threw them in, only de Russe picked up something in the midst of the ashes and kept it. He hid it from the rest of us, but I saw him take it. I swear that I did.”

Father James was trying to be patient with the man who had bad teeth, bad breath, and a maddened look about him. “Even if you saw him do it, it would be your word against his,” he said. “Do you think anyone would listen to you over the Beast of Bedford?”

The soldier nodded eagerly. “He was greatly sympathetic to the Maid,” he said. “Everyone knew he was. He spent a great deal of time with her and there are those that say he deflowered her. But he is the Beast, after all, and no one will speak against him. Yet I know what I saw. He took a piece of his lover from the ashes.”

The priest shrugged. “And what if he did?” he asked. “There is nothing he can do with it. I am sure he will not try to summon the dead or make a deal with the Devil with a relic of some kind.”

The soldier couldn’t understand why the priest wasn’t more excited about this. “But it is treachery,” he hissed. “It proves that he was in league with her. Mayhap he intends to carry on her work against the English, only it is the Beast and the Beast is in the heart of the king’s wars in France. He will betray us!”

The priest sighed. “I think you are mistaken,” he said, taking the man by the shoulder and turning him towards the entry to the church. “Go, now. I am sure you have duties to attend to.”

The soldier wasn’t willing to be pushed around. “I will go to Bedford with what I know,” he insisted. “I will go to Gloucester!”

The priest nodded patiently. “If you do, it will be your word against de Russe’s,” he said. “You will not emerge favorably in that contest. You could find yourself thrown in the vault for the rest of your life.”

The priest was practically pushing the soldier to the entry door where the rain was pounding, creating mud and distress in the streets beyond. The soldier was dragging his feet, wanting to be believed about what he had seen. He was sure the priest could do something about it but Father James didn’t seem to have any interest at all.

“Your Grace,
please
,” the soldier dug in his tattered heels, stopping the priest from pushing him right out of the door. “Please believe me when I say that I saw this. Will you not tell your superiors? Surely de Russe must be confronted. He must be stopped!”

He sounded sincere enough and an inkling of doubt crept into Father James’ heart. Was it possible the man really did see something? He seemed so certain. If de Russe truly did save a relic from the Maid, then the church needed to know. They needed to know if her evil would spread by means of an English knight who was supposed to be her jailor. Father James gazed at the nearly-frantic soldier, thinking that it might be in the best interest of them all to look into the matter, or at the very least, contact de Russe about it. Perhaps there was a very sensible reason behind what the soldier saw. In any case, Father James began to think that perhaps he needed to find out.

“Listen to me,” the priest said, grabbing the soldier by the arm. “If you run off with this rumor and Bedford hears about it, it will not bode well for you. You could find yourself facing the executioner’s sword. Therefore, keep your mouth shut on this matter and I will see what I can discover. It is up to the church to investigate. Is this clear?”

The soldier nodded eagerly. “Then you will find out what de Russe took?”

Father James released the man’s arm. “We will look into it,” he said. “But if you value your life, you will not repeat this story to anyone.”

The soldier agreed. “I will not, I swear it.”

“Where do you go now?”

The soldier pointed out into the rain. “I am part of a group of soldiers that is being sent back to Gloucester,” he said. “We are to go to the Tower tonight and report to the duke.”

“Go, then, and sin no more. And do not say another bloody word about this.”

The soldier ran off into the pouring rain. Father James watched the man disappear into the darkened streets beyond, thinking on what he had been told and wondering just how he was going to investigate it.

He wouldn’t take it to his superior, nay. The bishop was too busy already and would easily dismiss something like this. Therefore, Father James would take it upon himself. At the very least, he would warn de Russe that a soldier was spreading rumors about the remains of the Maid. In brittle times such as this, men needed to know whom they could trust. And the mighty de Russe family would show their gratitude by donating to the church. Aye, it would be a satisfying deal all the way around.

Retiring to his small, poorly furnished chamber, Father James sat at his small, leaning table and pulled forth a scrap of parchment out of a wooden box and then his quill. Although he wasn’t sure where Sir Bastian would be, he knew that Gloucester would know where he was. Perhaps Gloucester would make sure the missive was forwarded.

When Gloucester received the missive the next day when he returned to the Tower of London, he didn’t forward it. He read it.

He immediately sent a missive to West Court Manor.

“Gloucester knows.”

The soft, hoarse words came from Bastian’s mouth, directed at Braxton as the man lay in his bed. It was the very early morning hours the day after Bastian and Gisella had arrived at West Court and Bastian entered his father’s chamber, waking him from a heavy sleep. Braxton rubbed at his eyes, struggling to wipe away the cobwebs from his mind.

“What are you talking about?” Braxton asked, laboring to sit up. “What does he know?”

Bastian, dressed in a simple dark blue tunic, leather breeches, and big boots, tossed an elaborately-decorated piece of parchment onto his father’s bed. It was very dark in the room and he went to light a taper as his father grasped at the parchment.

“He knows about the relic I have,” he said quietly. “Someone told him, someone who must have seen me take it because, for certain, I have told no one save you.”

Braxton’s pale face greeted Bastian as the taper began to flame. He had the parchment in his hand but his focus was on his son. But he didn’t say anything until he read the parchment, aided by the taper his son held. Braxton read it twice before emitting a faint sigh and lowering the parchment in his hand.

“When did you receive this?” he asked.

“Just now.”

Braxton’s gaze moved back to the parchment, reading the words again. “He says that the church has heard rumor that you kept some manner of relic from the pyre of the Maid,” he said softly. “That does not mean he knows you have it. He is simply acting on rumor. Rumors have been following you for months now and this one is no different.”

Bastian sat heavily in the chair next to his father’s bed, pondering the situation. His father’s words gave him some comfort but, still, he was on-edge.

“A suspicious Gloucester is not a good thing,” he said after a moment. “Especially if he pulls Bedford into it. I told you that I’ve not given Bedford a reason to distrust me but something like this… even a rumor… if they wanted to prosecute me badly enough, this would give them cause. They made up a case against the Maid and they will make up one against me.”

Braxton grunted. It was a reversal of roles from yesterday when Braxton was worried and Bastian was calm. Now, he could hear the edge in his son’s voice and he labored to remain cool.

“Rubbish,” he said. “You will deny everything. Swear on the Bible that you do not carry such a relic and God will understand. Considering what they did to that girl for her beliefs, God will forgive you if you swear off any kind of allegiance to her. But how is it possible that someone saw you take something of her? Were there soldiers or clergy about when you disposed of her remains?”

Bastian nodded. “There were soldiers,” he said. “We were cleaning up the area and throwing anything that remained of her into the Seine. It is quite possible someone saw me take it.”

“Take what?” Braxton asked. “You were not clear on what, exactly, you took?”

Bastian looked him in the eye. “Her heart.”

Braxton’s bushy eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Her
heart
?” he repeated. “How on earth did it survive the fire?”

Bastian shrugged. “I do not know,” he said. “It was beneath some embers, and protected by a piece of charcoal… I truly have no idea how it survived but it did.”

Braxton thought seriously on that. “Then it was divine providence that it was left intact,” he said with some awe in his tone. “God must have a purpose for it, Bastian. I do not know what it is, but mayhap he will speak to you since you have possession of it.”

Bastian shook his head. “God has never spoken to me and I do not expect him to start now,” he said. “The Maid asked me to take her remains to Winchester Cathedral, which I refused. But finding her heart in the ashes, I decided to fulfill her request.”

His father’s gaze lingered on him, hesitantly. “You said you were going to inter it,” he ventured. “If you do this, you will have to tell the priests what it is. Do you not think they will tell Gloucester or Bedford if the question arises?”

Bastian averted his gaze, looking to the parchment sent by Gloucester. “I did not intend to tell the priests,” he said quietly. “I was going to scrape away some of the dirt floor inside Winchester and quietly bury it. As you and I discussed yesterday, this is my mission and mine alone. I do not intend to pull anyone into this.”

“But what of your wife?” Braxton wanted to know. “If you are suspected… surely Gloucester will believe she knows something. Mayhap the man will want to interrogate her purely for being married to you.”

Bastian glanced at his father. “Gloucester is her uncle,” he muttered, watching surprise register on his father’s features. “Her mother was a bastard of Henry of Bolingbroke. She is of royal blood, Father. Gloucester will not touch her.”

Braxton was clearly shocked. “You did not tell me this yesterday,” he said. “You say she is a granddaughter of Henry?”

Bastian nodded, sighing gently when he thought of his new and lovely wife sleeping so soundly across the hall. “Aye,” he replied. “Henry had a liaison with a Welsh princess which resulted in Gisella’s mother. Why do you think le Bec married the woman? He was very close to Henry and I am sure Henry wanted his daughter well taken care of.”

Braxton was stunned by the revelation that his son’s new wife was related to Gloucester and Bedford. “It makes a great deal of sense now,” he said. “Le Bec was quite old when he married. He was waiting for Henry’s daughter to come of age.”

“Indeed.”

Braxton mulled it all over for a few more moments, reconciling himself to the connections, before finally shaking his head. “It makes perfect sense now why Gloucester forced a marriage between you and Lady Gisella,” he said. “He wants to be linked to the House of de Russe through marriage. That way, he knows we can never deny him troops or money or properties ever again. We have family ties now.”

Bastian shrugged. “I am sure that crossed his mind but I am equally sure that is not the only reason,” he said. “Gisella was of marriageable age and they wanted to provide her with a suitable husband. I am worth something more than just the de Russe name, you know.”