Page 362 of Historical Hotties
“Did you pray for him to live?”
“I did.”
Bastian shrugged. “Then God spoke to you but you did not realize it,” he said. “You must understand that God’s answer to you was that your dog must pass from this life. You prayed for the dog to get well but God told you that it was the dog’s time to die. Now he is no longer in pain. Do you understand that God’s manner of speaking to us is not always the obvious way?”
Henry’s eyes widened. No, he hadn’t considered that at all. He pondered that great revelation seriously. “Then… then the Maid of Orleans… mayhap the saints did speak to her?”
Bastian nodded faintly. “Anything is possible, Your Grace,” he said. “Just because we did not see it does not mean that it did not happen.”
Bastian had opened an entirely new world up for Henry as the young king leaned on the windowsill and gazed out over the mighty river that flowed through his country. But the young king wasn’t done with his questions yet. It was rare that anyone would answer any serious questions he had so this was a prime opportunity he would not waste.
“Do you think the saints talked to her?” he asked Bastian.
Bastian had to be very careful with what he said. He was afraid anything he told the boy would get back to Gloucester or Bedford, or worse– any enemies he might have in young Henry’s entourage. He didn’t want to give them any ammunition against him, especially when he still had a trip to Winchester to make in the next few weeks. He didn’t want his comings and goings to be watched.
“If she believed it, then mayhap they did,” he replied. “I never saw them but that does not mean they did not speak to her.”
He skirted the answer but it was enough for Henry. He seemed satisfied, gazing up at Bastian as the river breeze caressed his freckled face.
“Did you know her well?” Henry asked.
“I did.”
“Was she kind?”
Bastian thought back to the Maid he knew, the woman with the strength of an entire nation. “She was very kind.”
Henry fell silent a moment, his gaze now drawn to two birds down on the water, fighting over something. There was so very much on his young mind.
“I think they did talk to her,” he finally said. “And I think my uncle is going to go to Hell for killing her.”
Bastian didn’t reply. He didn’t want to agree or disagree with the young king in spite of the fact that he was in concurrence with his statement. It was his feeling, and had been all along, that Bedford was going to burn for what he’d done. But he didn’t particularly want to discuss that subject so he pushed himself off the windowsill and turned in the direction of the stairs that led down to the ground floor.
“Shall we return to your retainers, Your Grace?” he asked. “They are probably wondering where we are.”
Henry climbed down from the windowsill and headed to the steps, looking at Bastian as he did so.
“Can we come back here, Bastian?” he asked. “Can we come here again and talk?”
Bastian could see that the lad was starved for attention and conversation, an odd state for a child who was surrounded by people all of the time. That pity Bastian had been starting to feel deepened.
“Of course, Your Grace,” he said. “Whenever you wish.”
“Tomorrow?” Henry asked eagerly as they began to descend the steps.
Bastian had to reach out a hand to steady the lad and keep him from falling down the stairs. “If that is your wish.”
“It is,” Henry said firmly. “I want to come back here every day and talk to you.”
Bastian smiled faintly as they reached the ground floor. “Can I bring my wife, Your Grace?” he asked. “She is your cousin, after all, and a very smart and humorous woman. I think you will like speaking with her.”
It was clear that Henry wanted Bastian to himself with no intrusions but he shrugged hesitantly. “If you want her to come.”
“I do, Your Grace.”
Henry wasn’t any too pleased about a woman being a part of their private discussions but he didn’t say anything. He wasthrilled that his new protector was a knowledgeable and friendly man, providing him with the male figure in his life that he had so sorely lacked. Henry liked to think that his father would have been this way; patient, strong, and wise.
But Bastian had known his father so it was perhaps the closest he would ever come to speaking with him in the flesh, for his dreams were vivid things where the powerful king who had been his father, Henry V, appeared upon a white horse, but as the young boy drew up alongside to see the glory and comfort that only a parent could provide, the long-dead monarch would disappear like a puff of smoke. Perhaps it was even Henry who had sent Bastian to look over his son.
