Page 370 of Historical Hotties
The nurses wept when they were told, by Gloucester no less, that they would not be able to accompany the boy king to Braidwood. The ruse was explained to them and it was decided that one of Henry’s young companions would sleep in the king’s bed as a decoy. That upset the nurses even more but Gloucester disregarded their weeping. He did, however, insist on sending the king’s head physician, to which Bastian reluctantly agreed. The old physician seemed genuinely fond of Henry, and Henry seemed fond of him, so it wasn’t such a bad thing. The boy needed at least one person with him who wasn’t a complete stranger.
Gannon, who had accompanied his sister and her husband to the Tower, remained outside when Bastian and Gisella had gone to meet with the king. He was gathered with a few de Russe soldiers at the Byward Tower, the exit to the west, so that theywould be available for Bastian when the man was ready to leave the Tower. Gannon had remained with the carriage that had brought Gisella over and, at one point during the evening, even lay down on the bench and slept for a few minutes because he was so exhausted from all of the travel over the past several days. He was awake, however, when Bastian and Gisella emerged from the White Tower with a youth and an old man in tow. He walked out to meet them as they crossed the ward, heading away from the White Tower.
“How was the feast?” Gannon asked Bastian. “We could hear the music out here.”
Bastian nodded. “Very fine,” he said, turning to indicate the boy. “I do not believe you recognize our king, Gannon. This is Henry.”
Gannon looked at the young man in shock and quickly bowed in his direction. “Your Grace,” he said. “I am honored to be in your presence.”
Henry looked at the tall, dark-haired knight but didn’t say anything. He was exceptionally unpracticed with conversation in general, as others usually spoke for him, so he turned to Gisella nervously, who smiled at him.
“Sir Gannon is my brother,” she told the king. “He is an excellent knight. You may trust him.”
That seemed to ease Henry somewhat as he followed Gisella to the carriage. She opened the door and ushered him in. Bastian was standing right behind her and he helped her into the carriage after the young king settled himself. The physic, smelling heavily of yeast for some reason, was the last one into the cab. Bastian spoke to the man as he settled himself on the seat opposite Gisella and the king.
“I did not hear your name,” he said.
The old physician pulled his cloak more tightly around him in the cool evening air. “I am Darwich,” he said. “I met yourgreat-grandfather once. Brandt de Russe was a sight to see, you know. A big man, like yourself.”
The comment garnered Bastian’s interest. “I never met him,” he said. “He died a few years before I was born.”
Darwich sniffled, wiping his nose on his cloak. “A great man,” he commented, reflecting on the mighty Duke of Exeter those years ago. “A great man indeed.”
“How did you know him?”
The physic sniffled again. “I was training as a physician,” he said. “I helped tend the man when he was injured at Poitiers.”
Bastian’s thoughts lingered on his great-grandfather as he headed for his rouncey, who was being brought forth from the stables along with Gannon’s horse. Brandt de Russe had nearly died at Poitiers from what family legend said but now it appeared as if Bastian might have an opportunity to confirm it first-hand, which pleased him. There weren’t many men left from the wars back then. Swinging himself onto the back of his horse, he spurred the animal forward and the party set out from the Tower of London and into the moonlit roads beyond.
Bastian rode to the rear of the party with Gannon in the front at point because Bastian wanted to be able to keep his eye on the king at all times. The half-moon was bright in the sky, casting silver light upon the dark waters of the Thames. It was quiet, too, as they made their way down a well-traveled road towards the ferry that would take them over the river. Braidwood was on the opposite side and Bastian could see the familiar silhouette in the distance.
Young Henry was thrilled with the ferry crossing, as he’d rarely had the opportunity to do that kind of thing. Bastian permitted him to get out of the carriage and stand at the front of the ferry, feeling the cold wind against his face. It was a glorious sensation. But the physician cut his joy short suggesting that the cold air might not be good for his health, so the boy begrudginglyclimbed back into the carriage. Soon enough, the ferry docked on the opposite shore and they were off for the short jaunt to Braidwood.
The de Russe manor was rather eerie at night because of the heavy vines all over the structure. It gave it a haunted look in the darkness but as the big iron gates opened wide to admit Bastian’s party inside, the manor itself was sufficiently lit and big torches burned along the drive, illuminating the manicured path. When the carriage finally stopped, Bastian dismounted his steed and went to the carriage to assist the young king and Gisella out of it. As he was steadying his wife as she climbed out, Lucas and Brant emerged from the house.
Young Henry eyed the knights as they approached, as the boy was naturally afraid of anyone he didn’t know, but Bastian made sure to ease the young king, introducing him to the two men.
“Your Grace, these are two of my knights– they are my cousins, in fact,” he said. “The man on the left is Sir Brant de Russe and the man on the right is Sir Lucas de Lara. Good knights, young Henry is to be our guest tonight.”
Brant and Lucas were both caught off guard by the introduction of the young king. Brant, who was in the Earl of Warwick’s contingent, knew the young king especially well. He wasn’t personally acquainted with him but he certainly knew him on sight. He fleetingly wondered what Warwick would say to the king being out of the Tower and not highly protected, but he said nothing. Still, he cast Bastian an odd look before bowing in supplication to the king.
“Your Grace,” Brant said. “Welcome to Braidwood.”
Henry nodded his head, barely, keeping his attention on Bastian because he was uncertain and didn’t know what else to do. Bastian began to walk and the young king stuck beside him, never wavering. He shuffled alongside Bastian on the pebblepath in his fine velvet slippers, looking at his surroundings with wide eyes.
“The king is going to be spending his nights here for the time being,” Bastian explained to his cousins. “His uncle, Gloucester, thought it would be an excellent idea since I refuse to sleep at the Tower yet, as his protector, I should be with him at all times. Lucas, can you please tell Collins that the king will be placed in the chamber next to mine?”
Lucas, who had been bringing up the rear, moved swiftly past Bastian and headed into the house. Just as he entered the warmly lit entry, Martin exited. He approached Bastian without as much as looking at those around the man. He was singularly focused on his cousin.
“You are not going to believe it, Bas. Uncle Braxton is here. He arrived from West Court after you had left for the Tower.” He sounded flustered but his focus abruptly came to rest on Henry. He lifted his eyebrows. “God’s Blood, what’s this? Another page? As if we need another one. We already have three. Is his father some well-connected general that you want to please? Well, come along, boy, and I’ll show you where you sleep.”
He grasped Henry by the neck and yanked the boy with him. But Bastian threw out an arm and blocked his cousin from proceeding, dragging Henry along by the neck as he was.
“Remove your hands,” Bastian said in a low voice. “Do you not recognize the king when you see him?”
Martin looked at Bastian as if the man had gone mad but when he looked down at Henry again, he ended up taking a second look and his eyes widened.
“God’s Blood,” he hissed. “Your Grace, I did not recognize you in the darkness. Pray forgive me for laying a hand upon you. I did not know.”
