it?” he asked, lightly done. “My wife enjoys entertainment, so nearly every night we have some manner of performance. Tonight, it will be a re-enactment of Richard’s victory over Saladin. This will go on for most of the night. Count yourself fortunate that you must leave.”
Bastian glanced at the duke and, seeing that the man was smiling, he gave the man a half-grin. “I am very sorry I will miss it, Your Grace.”
“Nay, you are not.”
“Nay, I am not.”
Gloucester snorted. Then, he pointed to the performance as a wooden ship of some kind, brightly painted, emerged from a corner of the room. There were men walking the ship into the hall, men who were also dressed as the ship’s crew, and they began firing mock arrows at the men in mortal combat.
“That is not what happened,” he said flatly. “Acre was not a naval battle. I told my wife this but she does not want to listen. She directs these plays, you know. It is her passion.”
Bastian merely nodded his head, cocking an eyebrow at the ridiculousness of it when someone in the ship stumbled and the entire ship fell down and the actors with it. The crowd laughed loudly at the spectacle as the men with the ship struggled to stand up with the ungainly wooden ship frame around them. Gloucester rolled his eyes.
“Idiots, all of them,” he sighed. “But I will say that my sympathy is with them. My wife does a new play every night, so they have little time to prepare. Speaking of prepared, did you see the angel hanging from the gallery above them?”
He was pointing again, now to the woman who was still suspended over the crowd. She was still singing, a faint tune now, alluring and sweet. She was also still spinning in a slow circle as men reached up, trying to touch her hands which were always slightly out of reach. Bastian watched the woman at a distance.
“Aye,” he finally said. “Le Bec said it was his sister.”
Gloucester nodded. “That is Lady Gisella le Bec, daughter of the mighty Richmond le Bec,” he said. “She is one of my wife’s favorite courtiers. She is cultured, skilled, intelligent, and wildly beautiful. Every man at Bella Court is in love with her to some degree, but she is a very reserved young woman. She shuns them all. I heard rumor there was a knight who had her heart but he was killed in France. You probably know him. In fact, I believe he was a distant cousin of yours. Maxim de Shera was his name.”
Bastian looked at him in surprise. “Indeed, I knew him,” he said. “He was killed during the Siege of Orleans two years ago. He took an arrow meant for me.”
Gloucester nodded. “I heard,” he said grimly. “A fine knight, I was told, but I must say that I would rather have him take the arrow than you.”
Bastian thought back to the knight, a second cousin, who had been a handsome man, skilled, with a French whore who followed him everywhere. He had at least three children with the woman and they were, for all intents and purposes, a married couple. Scratching his neck, Bastian returned his attention to the young woman hanging from the gallery.
“He was quite skilled,” he said, deciding not to make any mention of the camp whore or the children. “I felt his loss deeply. You say that Lady Gisella was in love with him?”
Gloucester nodded, seemingly mesmerized by the twirling lady in the distance. “That was the rumor,” he said. “But I do not know any more than that. In any case, the lady has kept herself quite pure and quite removed from any suitors within my wife’s court. She is well respected, and much liked, and that is why my wife and I decided she needed a husband of some wealth and prestige. She will make you a fine wife, Bastian. Congratulations.”
Bastian knew Gloucester had been leading up to the marital contract as he watched his betrothed hang rather provocatively from a silken cord. He sighed deeply. “Does her father approve of this union?” he asked, knowing it would be of no avail
Bastian glanced at the duke and, seeing that the man was smiling, he gave the man a half-grin. “I am very sorry I will miss it, Your Grace.”
“Nay, you are not.”
“Nay, I am not.”
Gloucester snorted. Then, he pointed to the performance as a wooden ship of some kind, brightly painted, emerged from a corner of the room. There were men walking the ship into the hall, men who were also dressed as the ship’s crew, and they began firing mock arrows at the men in mortal combat.
“That is not what happened,” he said flatly. “Acre was not a naval battle. I told my wife this but she does not want to listen. She directs these plays, you know. It is her passion.”
Bastian merely nodded his head, cocking an eyebrow at the ridiculousness of it when someone in the ship stumbled and the entire ship fell down and the actors with it. The crowd laughed loudly at the spectacle as the men with the ship struggled to stand up with the ungainly wooden ship frame around them. Gloucester rolled his eyes.
“Idiots, all of them,” he sighed. “But I will say that my sympathy is with them. My wife does a new play every night, so they have little time to prepare. Speaking of prepared, did you see the angel hanging from the gallery above them?”
He was pointing again, now to the woman who was still suspended over the crowd. She was still singing, a faint tune now, alluring and sweet. She was also still spinning in a slow circle as men reached up, trying to touch her hands which were always slightly out of reach. Bastian watched the woman at a distance.
“Aye,” he finally said. “Le Bec said it was his sister.”
Gloucester nodded. “That is Lady Gisella le Bec, daughter of the mighty Richmond le Bec,” he said. “She is one of my wife’s favorite courtiers. She is cultured, skilled, intelligent, and wildly beautiful. Every man at Bella Court is in love with her to some degree, but she is a very reserved young woman. She shuns them all. I heard rumor there was a knight who had her heart but he was killed in France. You probably know him. In fact, I believe he was a distant cousin of yours. Maxim de Shera was his name.”
Bastian looked at him in surprise. “Indeed, I knew him,” he said. “He was killed during the Siege of Orleans two years ago. He took an arrow meant for me.”
Gloucester nodded. “I heard,” he said grimly. “A fine knight, I was told, but I must say that I would rather have him take the arrow than you.”
Bastian thought back to the knight, a second cousin, who had been a handsome man, skilled, with a French whore who followed him everywhere. He had at least three children with the woman and they were, for all intents and purposes, a married couple. Scratching his neck, Bastian returned his attention to the young woman hanging from the gallery.
“He was quite skilled,” he said, deciding not to make any mention of the camp whore or the children. “I felt his loss deeply. You say that Lady Gisella was in love with him?”
Gloucester nodded, seemingly mesmerized by the twirling lady in the distance. “That was the rumor,” he said. “But I do not know any more than that. In any case, the lady has kept herself quite pure and quite removed from any suitors within my wife’s court. She is well respected, and much liked, and that is why my wife and I decided she needed a husband of some wealth and prestige. She will make you a fine wife, Bastian. Congratulations.”
Bastian knew Gloucester had been leading up to the marital contract as he watched his betrothed hang rather provocatively from a silken cord. He sighed deeply. “Does her father approve of this union?” he asked, knowing it would be of no avail
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