Page 361 of Historical Hotties
Henry nodded. “I have been told,” he said. “My father trusted you. Is that why you are here to watch over me?”
Bastian shrugged. “Partly,” he said. “Your uncles have asked me to assume this post. They feel that you are growing up and need more protection. That is why I am here, to protect you and to mayhap educate you in the ways of a warrior. Your father was a great warrior, after all.”
Henry looked at him, confusion etched on his face. “My father died when he was away at war.”
Bastian nodded. “He did, but it was because he fell ill, not because he was wounded.”
“Were you with him when he died?”
Bastian’s expression softened as he thought back to those days of Henry V. “I was,” he replied quietly. “His last thoughts were of you, but I suppose you already know that.”
The young king pondered the explanation. “How old are you, Sir Bastian?”
“I have seen thirty years.”
“Then you have seen a great deal in your life.”
“I have seen enough.”
Henry studied his face a moment and Bastian could literally see the questions and ideas rolling through his soft brown eyes. When the lad spoke, it was pensively. “Do you suppose God was punishing my father for fighting in France?” he asked. “By letting him die, I mean. God does not like greed. He likes mercy and kindness.”
Bastian wondered if the boy was repeating what he had heard or if these were indeed opinions formed by a free will. He nodded to the lad’s statement.
“God likes mercy and kindness,” he said. “But he also gives us the power to stand up for ourselves. That is what we are doing in France, you know, standing up for what belongs to you.”
Henry seriously mulled that over, watching birds as they hovered in the river breeze. “But the French do not want to give me what belongs to me,” he said. “I have heard the reports from France. Sometimes Uncle Humphrey tells me what is happening, but mostly I listen to him when he thinks I am not in the room. I heard him and de Beauchamp speak of the Maid of Orleans many times. They said that you showed pity towards her.”
Bastian looked at the boy. There was no telling what all he had heard out of context even though, Bastian was sure, peoplelike Gloucester and Bedford tried to keep most things from him. But he was a curious young boy. It was natural. As he gazed into the lad’s brown eyes, he was coming to think that Henry was indeed an intelligent young man who had probably heard much more than he should have. Something in his expression suggested it.
“As a knight, it is my duty to be fair to the less fortunate and loyal to my king,” he said. “You are my king and you have my fealty. The Maid of Orleans was simply a woman I showed fairness to, in all things.”
Henry’s brow furrowed, perplexed. “But how can you be fair to her when she opposes me? She does not want me to have what belongs to me.”
He had a point but Bastian wasn’t going to argue about it. He was careful in how he phrased his reply.
“Think on it this way, Your Grace,” he said. “Let us pretend, for argument’s sake, that Charles of France believed he was entitled to rule England and he came over to this country to fight you for it. You resisted him. Does that make you a bad person? Does it make you a traitor?”
Henry shook his head. “It ismycountry.”
Bastian nodded his head. “Exactly,” he said. “You must understand that the Maid was fighting for her country. That does not make her bad although many people wanted to believe she was bad. She loved France, just the way you love England, and she wanted France to be free of English rule.”
Henry understood that simple explanation. In fact, it appeared as if he was somehow enlightened by it. But there was still more he did not understand and no one had ever been so willing to explain things, so he was very eager to speak with Bastian about it. He’d had many questions for quite some time and they all seemed to come tumbling forth.
“But she said that God spoke to her,” he said. “That is blasphemy.”
Bastian didn’t agree or disagree. He simply cocked his head thoughtfully. “She did not say God talked to her, Your Grace,” he said quietly. “She said that Saints Michael and Catherine spoke to her. Let me ask you this, Your Grace– do you believe God hears your prayers?”
Henry nodded fervently. “He does. I know He does.”
“Does He speak to you?”
Henry shook his head slowly. “He does not.”
Bastian’s gaze moved out to the river, watching the white birds on the wind, the boats rocking gracefully upon the water, as he thought of his reply.
“Your Grace, have you ever prayed for something that you wanted very badly?” he asked. “For instances, have you ever prayed for a sick person to be healed or for good weather on a hunting day?”
Henry nodded. “I… I prayed for my dog once,” he admitted, looking as if he had done something quite wicked. “My dog was sick and he died.”
