Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge (46 page)

There was a small livery not far from the church where Bastian left the horses, paying the livery keeper a tidy sum to feed and water them. He also paid the man well to watch out for the white stallion, which had drawn many an envious stare. Bastian didn’t want his horse sold out from under him under the guise of a robbery or a runaway horse, so he made sure to pay the man well to watch out for the beast. He was becoming rather attached to the horse as a testament to Gloucester’s humiliation. Every time he rode it, he knew the duke was furious, and that satisfaction was worth a great deal to him.

Upon leaving the livery with his saddlebags thrown over his broad shoulder, he took his wife by the arm and escorted her out to the avenue that converged with others around the square that held the cathedral. Since it was early morning, people were out and about with their daily tasks and Henry was fascinated with it all. He’d never really seen a city in its basic state like this, with people all going about their business. Usually, people were kept away from him, so this venture into his kingdom was a truly fascinating event for him.

As they proceeded down the avenue, a baker’s stall had stacks of warm loaves of bread for sale, which excited the young king tremendously. Bastian finally gave the lad a pence so he could buy himself a loaf, which he quite happily did. Tearing apart the warm, cream-colored bread with the thick golden crust, Henry gleefully ate his fill as Bastian and Gisella grinned at him. Simple pleasures meant a lot to the boy.

But there were more important things to do than eating bread on this sultry August morning. The avenue they were traveling upon eventually dumped them out into the square surrounding the cathedral, and Henry, mouth full, studied the structure with great awe. With great flying buttresses supporting the walls, the spires reached into the sky like big stone fingers. It was truly a sight to behold.

“This must be the tallest building in the entire world,” Henry declared. “This is my uncle’s cathedral.”

Bastian nodded to the boy. “Indeed, it is Beaufort’s,” he said. “It is fitting that we will bury the Maid’s heart here in the sacred grounds of her chief inquisitor.”

Henry chewed on his bread. “Mayhap someday her spirit will visit him,” he said. “Mayhap she will harass him for what he did to her.”

Gisella frowned at Henry. “That is a ghastly thought, Your Grace,” she said. “I would hope that the Maid’s spirit would be at peace now. Surely she would not want to come back and visit the man who tormented her in life.”

Henry shrugged and put another piece of bread into his mouth as they crossed the wide, dusty square that surrounded the cathedral. Bastian glanced up at the sky, thinking that it was a beautiful day much like this one when the Maid was put to death. He sincerely hoped that, with her heart buried, she would finally find a measure of peace. Although she mentioned returning to announce to the English people that her fight for France was not over, he rather hoped she didn’t return. Much like his wife, he hoped her spirit was at peace. What he did now for the Maid was because of his sense of duty and for no other reason than that.

The entrance to the cathedral was an overhang of sorts, protecting the doorway that led to the innards. Bastian, Gisella, and Henry entered the church, confronted by a dark, massive sanctuary that smelled of earth and smoke. Dozens of candles were lit near the altar, which was very far away, it seemed. There were people milling around but for the most part, it seemed relatively empty for such an enormous place.

Bastian stood in the doorway, studying the layout, acquainting himself with the vast space. His first thought was to scope out an appropriate place to bury the heart, tucked away in a leather pouch and held for safekeeping in a small, wooden box.

Gisella must have known what he was thinking because she was looking for an appropriate burial place, too. They had come so far and now that they were here, she was a little intimidated by it all. She’d never really felt a sense of danger until now and tried to shake off the creeping sense of foreboding. She pointed at the altar in the distance.

“Mayhap we should bury it up there,” she whispered to him. “Up by the altar. Don’t you think that would be appropriate?”

Bastian nodded but he was still looking around, scoping out the layout. “Aye,” he agreed quietly, “but everyone would see us. There are too many people up there. We should see if there is an alcove or a private corner of the sanctuary where we can bury it in relative anonymity. I should not like for our activities to become a spectator sport.”

Gisella saw his point. Together, and with Henry in tow, they began to skirt the edge of the sanctuary, looking for a dark corner to do the deed. They clung to the north wall, their eyes searching the area, but Henry was distracted by the beautiful windows over his head, windows of colored glass that depicted saints. He was quite fascinated by it, living for the moment in a world he had never truly visited, a world where he was normal and incognito, and allowed to view the world around him without people telling him what to think or what to do. He liked this world a great deal.

The northern wall ended and took a sharp turn to the left, into a smaller transept, or chapel, that was an offshoot of the main cathedral. It was quiet here, slightly dark, and very private. No one was in this portion of the church and Bastian decided this was as good a place as any. He swung his saddlebags off his shoulders and crouched to the dirt floor with Gisella beside him.

“Your Grace,” he whispered to Henry. “Stand over near the main cathedral and watch to see if anyone comes. If they do, tell me very quickly.”

Henry nodded sharply and scooted over to the entry into the big sanctuary. He felt useful and very grown up, as if he were a part of this very important task. He could see people moving around, and there was a priest on the other side of the cathedral, but it was clear for the most part.

“There is no one,” he whispered loudly to them. “Hurry up!”

Bastian didn’t need to be told twice. As Gisella held steady one of the saddlebags, he opened it up and rummaged down in the bottom of it. First, he pulled forth a big dagger in a leather sheath and set it aside. Then, he rummaged around a bit more before pulling forth a small, wooden box.

The box was simple but well made. He pulled off the lid, revealing a small leather pouch inside. As he plucked it out, Gisella spoke softly.

“Your saddlebags were in the dressing room the entire time you were gone to Wallingford Castle,” she said softly. “When those men broke in, they stole a good many things but they somehow missed your saddlebags. Was the heart in them the entire time?”

Bastian nodded as he opened the leather pouch. “The entire time,” he confirmed softly. “Even if they found it, they probably would not have known what it was. Relics usually involve bone or hair. They would not have been looking for this.”

With that, he turned the pouch over and expelled the contents into the palm of his right hand. A small, blackened ball was revealed, oddly shaped, and Gisella peered closely at it, studying the tiny heart of a woman who had been mightier than a king.

“It’s so small,” she murmured. “Why is it so small?”

Bastian inspected the heart for a moment, thinking back to that wise young woman he had befriended. He smiled at his wife’s question.

“Her heart was not small,” he assured her quietly. “She had the biggest heart of anyone I have ever known, save you. This is simply what is left of that big heart, a reminder of the greatness she was. I am sure she would not have minded if you held it.”

Timidly, Gisella lifted her hand and he put the small, blackened relic into her palm. It was the size of a prune, dry and black, but Gisella felt as if she were in the presence of greatness. Somehow, she could see the woman this had belonged to, a bold woman who had led armies against the English.

As she scrutinized the relic, Bastian took the dagger from its sheath and quickly dug out a small hole against the wall of the transept. The box wasn’t very big, but he wanted to make sure that it was buried deeply enough that time and foot traffic wouldn’t uncover it. As he shoveled out clods of dark, hard-packed earth, he heard Gisella speaking softly to the remnant in her hand.

“You do not know me, but I am Sir Bastian’s wife,” she whispered. “I know you do not think much of the English but I know you think much of my husband. For as poorly as my uncles treated you, I hope that what we are doing, in some way, makes up for it. I truly hope you find peace,
la Pucelle
. And I hope, wherever you are, that you protect my husband for doing this for you. He has made a great sacrifice in so many ways to ensure that your last wish is fulfilled.”

Bastian was finished digging before she finished speaking, but he was rather touched by her soft prayer to the Maid. He didn’t believe she truly understood his need to fulfill the Maid’s wish, but she was supporting him nonetheless and that was all that mattered. He gazed at the woman as she spoke softly to the heart of a dead woman, with all of her gentleness and kindness. He knew the Maid would have liked Gisella. It was difficult not to like the woman. Indeed, Bastian had been rewarded as the Maid had once predicted. It was the greatest reward he could have imagined.

“Give it to me, sweetheart,” he said softly.

He held out his hand and she carefully dumped the little heart back into his palm. Returning it to the pouch, he put the pouch back into the box, and then nestled the box down into the hole he had dug.

Quickly, he pushed the dark earth back over it, assisted by Gisella. They shoveled all of the earth back into the hole and then tamped it down, packing it, trying to make it look as if the earth had not been disturbed. In fact, Bastian began hacking up the earth in random spots and smoothing it back down so his fresh-packed hole wouldn’t look so obvious. He tried to make the rest of the floor look the same. It was becoming lighter now in the transept as the sun rose, casting a warm glow over the stone, and throwing more light on the floor. Bastian wanted to make sure it all appeared the same.

Gisella stood up, brushing the dirt off her hands as Bastian went around disturbing the earth to make it all blend in together. As Bastian gave the Maid’s grave one last stomping to pack down the dirt, Gisella went over to Henry, who was taking his job as the watchman very seriously.

“We are finished,” she whispered to the young king. “We must leave quickly.”

Henry, thinking he was relieved of his duties, went back into the transept and realized that he couldn’t tell where the heart had been buried. Bastian had to point it out to him. As gentle light from the angle of the morning sun began to beam through the windows, Henry gazed down at the spot in the earth where the Maid’s heart had been buried. The first thing he did was make the sign of the cross and then put his hands together in prayer.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” he whispered. “Blessed are thou among women… blessed are thou….”

He came to a halt, staring down at the disturbed earth. Then he turned to look at Bastian, who was standing a few feet away. His young face was lined with confusion.

“I do not feel right praying to the Blessed Virgin,” he said. “Do you think I can simply talk to the Maid instead?”

Bastian smiled faintly at the boy. “She would like for you to speak to her,” he said softly. “Say what is in your heart and let us be done with this. We must leave before we are discovered.”

Henry nodded quickly and turned back to the small grave. “My name is Henry,” he said quietly. “England is my kingdom. I know you do not think that France belongs to me but I think it does, at least some of it, but I will not argue it with you. I just want you to know that I am sorry for what my soldiers did to you. I pray that you are at peace with Our Holy Father now.”

He crossed himself again just as a ray of light beamed forth from the window behind him, streaming in through the open window, creating a dance of light a few feet away. The sun was brighter now as morning was underway and streams of light were coming in from most windows at this point, but this beam of light was different. It was quite blinding and seemed to be shimmering somewhat. It was lighting up the entire corner of the transept.

Bastian had turned away by now, moving to join his wife, but Henry happened to glance over at the light simply because it was so blinding. As he did, he abruptly came to a halt and stared at it. Frozen to the spot, he didn’t move. Bastian made his way back to Gisella, completely ignorant of the fact that Henry was still standing there, looking at the sunbeam. He was only aware of it when his wife spoke.

“Where is Henry?” she asked.

Bastian looked behind him, realizing the boy hadn’t followed. He could see the lad, tucked back in the transept, just standing there as sunlight streamed around him. They couldn’t see his face because he was turned away from them and Bastian didn’t want to yell, so he retraced his steps back into the transept until he reached the young king.

“Your Grace?” he hissed. When he received no reaction, he spoke louder. “Henry? Come along, now. We must leave.”

Henry didn’t respond for a moment. When he did, he turned to look at Bastian with tears in his eyes and glory in his expression. Shocked, Bastian grasped the boy gently.

“Henry?” he asked softly. “Why do you weep? What is wrong?”

Henry’s face was full of joy and wonder. The child looked as if he were having a fit of some kind because his lips worked but no sound was coming forth. When he finally spoke, it was in a tone Bastian had never heard before.