Page 343 of Historical Hotties
“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. “Herheart?” he repeated. “How on earth did it survive the fire?”
