Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (30 page)

Braxton knew that and he didn’t like it. “I am an old man, Bas,” he muttered. “I have seen more battles in my lifetime than most. My fighting years are behind me and I have seen that, sometimes, battles simply make the matter worse. All I am saying is that you should give Suffolk the opportunity to surrender his brother to you before you tear this country apart in the name of honor.”

Bastian put his hand on her father’s shoulder. “I will give him that opportunity,” Bastian said. “But I am still riding to Wallingford and surrounding it. If de la Pole is there, I do not want him escaping.”

Braxton knew there would be no discouraging him. He had tried to persuade his son for a peaceful solution all he was going to. Bastian, having just come from years upon years of war in France, was in the battle mindset. Battle was a way to achieve his ends and, at this point in his life, battle and warfare were all he knew. There would be no convincing him to seek another way.

“What do you need and when will you go?” Braxton asked, resigned.

Bastian glanced at the knights around him. “Gannon, Lucas, and I must do this,” he said quietly. “Brant and Martin, you are sworn to Warwick. You must get his permission if you are inclined to follow me.”

Both Brant and Martin nodded. “We are with you, Bas,” Martin said firmly. “Answer Uncle Braxton. What do you need and when will we go?”

Bastian thought a moment. “First, I send word to Gloucester to tell him my plans,” he said. “I am sure he will answer swiftly to prevent me from doing anything hasty, but meanwhile, I will send word to Andrew Wellesbourne requesting soldiers to reinforce the weak ranks I have right now. Father, how many soldiers are at West Court?”

Braxton shrugged. “A couple of hundred at the very most,” he said. “It is not a military fortification.”

Bastian cocked an eyebrow. “If I engage with Suffolk, it will be,” he said. “All de Russe properties should be reinforced if I lay siege to Wallingford Castle. In the meantime, the rest of us should be prepared to move out with what men we have while I send requests for larger numbers to Uncle Aramis. Additionally, I want men sent to the ports to be on the watch for de la Pole in case he escapes our net. Brant, how many of Warwick’s men know de la Pole on sight?”

Brant thought on that a moment. “Most of us,” he said. “I will see if I can discreetly convince a dozen or so to head to the ports and try to keep Warwick from noticing that he is down a few men.”

“Excellent,” Bastian agreed. “Tell them I will pay them handsomely for their efforts. I will therefore send word to Gloucester this night asking if he has made contact with Suffolk. Based on his reply, we will know better how to plan. Meanwhile, I will try to get some sleep and see you all on the morrow. Father, will you take the young king in-hand?”

Braxton stood up with a good deal of help from Bastian on one side and Brant on the other.

“Aye,” he said. “I will sleep in his room with him. He seems rather fearful to be left alone.”

Bastian didn’t let go of his father as the men shuffled towards the door that led from the kitchens and back to the manor. It seemed to him as if his father was leaning heavily on him, the weariness of an old man in bad health.

Bidding his cousins and knight a good eve, Bastian escorted his father into the manor and left him off in the reception room where Henry and the young page had been drawing quite steadily since Braxton had originally departed. Bastian smiled when Henry pointed out his drawings to Braxton and the old man praised him.

Leaving the king in excellent hands, Bastian headed up to his bedchamber with the intention of making his wife truly his wife in every sense of the word. The day may have been full of obligations and duties, but the night would belong only to them.

Bastian would make sure of it.

“I have heard you have been looking for information on Bastian de Russe.”

An English soldier bearing the emblem of Gloucester on his tunic cornered Arneau when the man went into a storeroom behind the main room of the tavern to collect a small barrel of red wine. It was a dank, dark, little room, the perfect place for an ambush. The soldier stood in the doorway as Arneau stood there with the barrel in his arms, facing him. Tension was in the air.

“An old drunk who spends his days in this tavern heard you speaking with another man about de Russe,” the soldier continued. “The old drunkard told me a great deal. He says that you want to locate de Russe because you want to trap him. Is this true?”

Arneau was very suspicious and he was also quite fearful, realizing that this soldier had somehow come into some very dangerous information. When he used the word “trap”, Arneau recalled that he and le Foix had used such a word the night before.
Damnation!
He thought.
Someone must have overheard!
Terror shot through him.

“Why do you ask such questions?” he demanded, defensive. “This is a public house. Many people speak of many things.”

“Be at ease, old man,” the soldier said. “I am not here to punish you. Mayhap I can help you if the price is right.”

The soldier’s presence was becoming a bit clearer but Arneau was still wary and he was still frightened. “I cannot help you.”

“You are not willing to pay for correct and current information on the man?” the soldier asked leadingly. “I do not even care why you want to trap de Russe. That is your business. But I can probably tell you something about him.”

Arneau set down the barrel in his arms because it was growing heavy. He was intrigued by the soldier’s offer but he was still cautious.

“You speak of a drunkard,” he said. “This is a tavern and we have many drunkards, men who spout off foolishly. It is the drink that causes this.”

The soldier’s gaze was appraising. “This particular drunkard is a former soldier for the crown,” he said. “He was a good one until drink took over his life. Now he spends his days wallowing in wine and anything else he can get his hands on. He comes by the Tower regularly to ask for his old job back. He was there this morning and told me he would tell me a great secret if I would give him his job back. He seemed earnest so I told him I would consider giving him his job back if he told me what his secret was. He proceeded to tell me that the barkeep from The Bird and Bucket was speaking on Bastian de Russe and talking about trapping the man but that he needed more information on de Russe’s whereabouts. Is this true?”

Arneau stared at the man, torn between shock and interest. “What would you have me say?”

“You can tell me how much you’ll pay for the information.”

“And have it get back to de Russe that someone would pay money to gain information on him? Go away, now. You are wasting my time.”

The soldier didn’t move and it was an odd standoff in the storeroom. Finally, the soldier cocked his head in a pensive, and nearly plotting, gesture.

“I serve Gloucester,” he said. “De Russe was at the Tower today but he is not staying there. I can tell you where he is staying and I can tell you about his new position with the king. Is that worth something to you?”

Arneau could tell that the man wasn’t going to leave. Moreover, it was the information le Foix had been looking for. But he maintained his caution, fearful that this was somehow a trap.

“If I was looking for such information, what would you want for it?” he asked.

The soldier considered the question. “Five gold crowns.”

“I don’t have that much. But if I was to pay for any information, I would give two gold crowns plus a barrel of wine to take back to your friends.”

“Then I will take it.”

Arneau picked up the wine barrel he had been holding and handed it over to the soldier, who took it gladly and heaved it onto his shoulder.

“De Russe is staying at his family’s home of Braidwood across the river from the Tower,” he said. “I saw him tonight as the left the Tower. He took the ferry across. Also, Gloucester and Bedford have appointed him the King’s Protector and he has been assigned to watch over the young king.”

Arneau’s brow furrowed. “They have removed him from fighting in France?”

“It appears they have for now but I do not know why,” the soldier said. “More than likely something to do with the rumors about the Maid. Mayhap they want to remove him from that situation for the time being because I heard he was the woman’s lover. Surely all of France must be out to kill him, even more than usual.”

It was curious information and Arneau absorbed it readily. “Do you know about a relic he took after she was burned to ashes?” he asked.

The soldier looked at him inquisitively. “I do not,” he said. “Have you heard that?”

Arneau shook his head. “It was the ramblings of a mad man,” he said, trying to downplay the question. “What else can you tell me about him?”

The soldier thought a moment. “He came to the Tower with his wife,” he said. “Evidently, he married her when he returned to England but I do not know anything about her.”

A wife
. Arneau found that information quite interesting and possibly quite valuable.
Le Foix spoke of a trap to catch the Beast… perhaps the wife could be used as bait?
It was a thought-provoking prospect, indeed.

“Come into the common room and I shall give you your money,” Arneau said. “If you find out anything else about de Russe, come back and tell me. I will determine how much it is worth and pay for it.”

The soldier simply nodded, heading to the common room with Arneau following him. The barkeep went to his barback, the one that contained bottles of wine and barrels of ale, and went for the cash box which was camouflaged in an ale barrel. The soldier didn’t see where the cash came from but soon enough, Arneau put two gold crowns in his hand, crowns that were hundreds of years old and minted for the Roman Empire. The soldier nodded his head at the money in his palm, satisfied.

“I will not ask your name and you will not ask mine,” he said to Arneau. “It is safer that way.”

Arneau didn’t say a word. He pretended to be busy at the bar, wiping it down with a rough linen cloth and shaking the old wine out of the cups to be ready to use for the next customer. The soldier quit the tavern with the small barrel of wine over his shoulder, disappearing into the night, blending in with the darkness as he made his way back to the Tower.

Arneau kept busy until the man was sufficiently gone. A minute or two passed before Arneau even slowed down, his gaze moving to the tavern door, the last place he saw soldier. His first thought was of le Foix and he kicked the servant boy that was sleeping against the wall, sending the child running for the dark French soldier.

Nerves got the better of Arneau as he waited impatiently for le Foix to appear. He ended up drinking some of his own very bad wine, thinking it tasted terrible.
What if this was all a trap
? he wondered.
What if de Russe sent the soldier with lies to send us off our course
? Of course, that was foolish. De Russe didn’t know anything about him but it was possible he knew something of the Armagnacs. De Russe’s father had been sent a threatening note some time ago, after all. De Russe more than likely realized the Maid’s supporters were after him, but that was probably nothing new in his world.

Unnerved, Arneau waited until le Foix appeared some time later and took the man back into the storage room to explain his conversation with the English soldier. Le Foix didn’t seem to think it was a trap. On the contrary, he was thrilled with the information but not because of the mention of the new wife. Somehow, he seemed to forget their idea of setting a trap for de Russe. Le Foix was thrilled because he now knew the location of de Russe and, consequently, of de Russe’s possessions. He was positive that the relic, if it existed, was somewhere close to de Russe. He didn’t think the man would part with anything so valuable. He would keep it close to him.

Therefore, it made sense to go where de Russe was and take it from him. The more le Foix had thought on it, the more he believed that simply speaking to de Russe would not produce the relic. It would simply make de Russe leery of them and, quite possibly, angry. They were going to have to take the relic by force – take de Russe’s possessions and then look for anything that might appear as if had come from a woman who had been burned to death.

A bit of bone, even a tooth or something else that would have survived such heat. Le Foix was positive he would know it when he saw it. But they had to wait for the right time, when de Russe was away from his lodgings. Only then would they have unrestricted access to stealing all of de Russe’s possessions and, hopefully, make it appear as a theft and not as if they were looking for something in particular.

All I want is the relic,
le Foix said.
But if I have the opportunity to speak to de Russe, mayhap I can convince him to join our cause. If he helped the Maid, then surely he would want to continue her work. France must be free!

Arneau thought the latter part of that statement was laced with madness. In fact, all of this was starting to reek of madness. As the barkeep stood aside and nervously listened, le Foix plotted their next move.

When Bastian reached his bedchamber, he opened the door to find the room in a bit of disarray. Gisella had her capcases unpacked and there were garments, shoes, belts, and accessories on the bed, on the eating table, and on the floor. As he entered the chamber and quietly closed the door, locking it, Gisella looked up from where she was bent over the smaller capcase.

“That did not take long,” she said. “Your business with your knights must not have been very important for your conference with them to be so short.”

Bastian approached the bed, picking up a very silky shift, feeling the texture against the rough skin of his hand. It was arousing.

“It was important,” he said casually. “What are you doing?”

Gisella gestured to her cases. “I thought I should pull these garments out and at least put them on a peg and let them hang,” she said. “We are going to remain here for a time, aren’t we?”

Bastian nodded. “Aye.”

Gisella smiled at him as she went back to her garments, taking those off the bed and moving for the connecting dressing room where there were pegs on the wall to hang garments from.

Bastian could see her through the open door, moving around in the dark room. His thoughts were lingering on the meeting he had just come from and of the plans for the future. Gisella had to know about them. It was only fair, considering she was as involved at the root of the situation as he was. But the more he watched her, the more he began to wonder – was his vendetta against de la Pole purely one of honor? Or did it have to do with the fact that he actually felt something for his new wife? Had he not been fond of the woman, de la Pole’s strike wouldn’t have angered him. He would have punished the man purely out of personal honor. But what he was feeling went far beyond persona honor. A man dared to take a hand to a woman that was coming to mean a great deal to him. Her beauty, her humor, and her intelligence… all of it was coming to mean something to him and every time he thought on de la Pole taking a hand to that perfection, he wanted to rip the man’s head off.

But he was distracted from his thoughts when Gisella came out of the dressing room and gathered a few more garments that were laid across the bed. He watched her as she moved, so graceful and fluid. Now, if he was to see her hanging from a silken cord above a crowd, singing in her sweet voice, it would seriously arouse him. He would also be wildly furious at the fact that she wasn’t doing it for him alone. As she brushed past him, he spoke quietly.

“You may now tell me what happened at the Tower today,” he said, moving to the hearth where two comfortable chairs sat before the snapping blaze. “Why did you strike de la Pole? What did he say to upset you so?”

Gisella’s good humor vanished. Still holding the garments in her hand, she looked at him with an expression of both guilt and remorse. She struggled to tell him.

“He said vile things,” she finally said. “He said that you were evil.”

Bastian’s gaze was steady on her. “Men have declared me evil on many occasions but I did not slap them for it,” he said. “Tell me what de la Pole said to make you strike him. Tell me the truth.”