Gaston - Chapter 2 (Patreon)

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The Kingdom of France: 1371 A.D.

A pair of carriages were travelling down a long and lonesome road, one behind the other. They were dusty and damaged but, underneath all the dirt, beautiful engravings could be seen. An appraiser with a keen eye would be able to tell that these carriages had likely belonged to a noble or very wealthy family.

Their speed was slow, as the roads were not well-kept in the least. They could hardly afford to break an axle or wheel – who would be able to repair it all the way out here?

Perhaps it was because of the tragic speed that the carriages’ occupants were in such an agitated state.

The rear carriage’s ‘coachman’ was a thin middle-aged woman with a pinched face. As the scuffling and shouting in the carriage became louder, she eventually couldn’t handle it anymore and shouted: “Bertrand! Discipline your brothers!”

”Yes, ms Margaret!” Shouted a youthful voice. After that exclamation, a few whacking sounds could be heard. Affronted gasps and pained shouts rang out from within the carriage, as well as a muttered: “I warned you lot, didn’t I?”

The woman shook her head with an exasperated expression. She supposed she couldn’t expect better behavior from a carriage filled with six boys. She smiled a little, before speaking over her shoulder at the boisterous lads behind her. “If you children behave, I will prepare some custard as soon as we arrive.”

The carriage went silent for a moment before a squeaky voice replied. “Really…?” Before she could answer, a different voice cut in. “I want two servings!” The carriage quickly devolved into further squabbling, as the children started arguing between themselves about who should get the most custard.

Margaret took a few calming breaths to fight off an incoming headache. This was going to be a long trip.

The head, much quieter, carriage was being steered by an older man somewhere in his forties. His hands held the reins loosely as he sat there, a morose expression on his face.

His name was Maurice Le Marquand. A few years ago, many noble members of the clergy and the French courts would have spoken the name with respect. Now, the Le Marquand name had become synonymous with failure, and with the price paid for wasteful extravagance.

The past five years, his family had lost everything. Their grand estate had fallen to ruins, with all of the wealth and possessions it held. Their fertile lands were despoiled by plague and vermin. All their wonderful ships had gone lost at sea; whether it was by pirate, by storm or by something else... 

His most trusted advisors and collaborators had colluded against him and betrayed him. And then, if that wasn’t enough, his wonderful wife with whom he’d shared his twelve precious children had passed away. It was as if Maurice had become the Job of the fourteenth century.

He’d requested aid from every last one of his friends and his extended family members. None had responded in his time of need. In desperation, he’d dug up the names of every last person that owed him a favor. Every single one of them had some sort of excuse, some reason that made it impossible for them to offer him any assistance.

It was then that he knew the truth: some power high up in the courts or the church had plotted against the Le Marquand family. He didn’t know the reason for certain, but he had his suspicious… The crown had been devastated under the effects of sickness and war – their financial situation was critical. His family, which had weathered these hardships and emerged even stronger and wealthier, became the perfect target.

Maurice came to know the difference between merchants and the nobility. The nobility had their own private soldiers who were raised from childhood to be loyal only to them – the merchants had only greedy, easily-swayed mercenaries. When the time came for his family to resist oppression, he found that he had none who were willing to die for the cause.

The Le Marquand family had capitulated without a fight.

It was in his darkest hour, fearing for his life and the life of his children, that he discovered an old beneficiary of his: Claude La Fayette.

During Maurice’s earlier years, when he’d just started as a merchant, he became involved in some… questionable transactions. He’d done a service for Claude, one which he’d been severely undercompensated for when he became aware of its true nature.

It had been a complete shot in the dark, asking Claude La Fayette for help. What was the chance that someone of such questionable identity and intentions would have any consideration for a debt, or for his fellow man?

To the merchant’s great surprise, he received an answer. Not only was Claude willing to aid them, but he was willing to provide them with a residence in his barony. The barony admittedly only consisted of a single backwards town and an endless expanse of forest, but to the desperate Maurice it was like receiving mana from the heavens.

If this was some scheme, then Maurice wasn’t able to see the purpose of it. He had nothing left aside from his children, and certainly nothing worth stealing. He was grasping at straws, but it was better than grasping at nothing.

They had packed the few things they still had and set off towards the wayward little town of Villeneuve. Only a single servant had been willing to accompany them: the old nursemaid of their children who’d been hired by his late wife. Maurice was eternally grateful for her support – she was a very competent woman.

His children had been very upset, leaving their spoiled lifestyle behind. However, over the past year it had become very clear, even to the children, that it was not safe for them to remain near Paris any longer. The boys had taken things rather well, seeing their relocation as a grand adventure of some sort.

The girls were less… amenable. His eldest daughter had taken it especially harshly. She was in her early teen years, and had taken a fancy to the son of a local nobleman. He knew that both her and his late wife had wished for a marriage to happen between the two children. Even he, as a father, had to admit that the young lad was rather admirable.

Unfortunately, when disaster struck, that family had turned away from the Le Marquands the same as the rest. Any hopes of a marriage between the two families had turned to ashes. His daughter had barely spoken to him since.

Maurice fiddled with the reins in his hands before looking over his shoulder through the carriage’s open compartment. “I trust you are still well, girls?” He asked, addressing his six daughters.

Most of them nodded or responded to his words with a ‘Hm’. He had to stop himself from sighing. He was sure most of them did not take much issue with the situation, they were just copying the behavior of their oldest sister.

Maurice specifically turned to look at the teen in question. “Anastasia…” His mouth moved, struggling to come up with the right words. “Just… give Villeneuve a chance, all right? Once things have calmed down… we can visit Paris. If both you and Louis still feel the same way, then we’ll take things from there.”

He could see his daughter’s shoulders, which were scrunched up against her neck, relax a little.

Truthfully, he felt that there was no hope for her and that boy to ever reunite. Maurice just hoped her feelings would fade over time. He felt miserable whenever he thought about Anastasia’s marriage. There was no way she would ever be willing to settle for a village boy.

Anastasia was simply too good for any of them, and she knew it too. She was the type of girl that made poets commit suicide out inadequacy – the beauty of their words would never be able to measure up to her. In many ways, she looked the most like his wife out of all his daughters. While his wife had been a very attractive woman, she had her imperfections. Maurice loved her even more because of them.

However, Anastasia was different.

She was the person her mother would have been if God himself had taken up his knife and chisel to hand-carve her. Her long blonde hair fell in golden waves. Her smooth skin was pale-perfect. Her exquisitely fine hands were adorned with jewel-like nails, and her eyes were vibrant green like the endless forests. She was as close to an angel as any human woman could possibly get.

She was almost perfect. Almost.

The thing about Anastasia is that she had a rather… difficult personality. Those who were more tactful would describe her as a true noble’s daughter. In contrast, those who were less charitable would describe her as an arrogant narcissist who worshipped material wealth and cared only about herself.

Maurice could see the truth in the latter description. Yet, what could he do? She was his firstborn, and his beloved child. No matter how terribly behaved and entitled she was, he didn’t love her any less.

Not for the first time, he wished his wife was still here. Anastasia had always loved her mother more than him. Rather than feeling bitter about the fact, he was simply glad that his wife was able to rein in the difficult girl.

‘Henrietta…’

Before he could become consumed by his grief, he felt a small hand pat his back. He turned around to see his youngest daughter, Belle, clambering up the carriage seat to reach towards him.

“How far are we, daddy?” Asked the little girl, speaking astoundingly well for a child her age.

He smiled at his youngest, taking her by the armpits while holding the rains in his mouth. After shuffling around a little bit, he eventually got into a comfortable position with Belle in his lap.

“See that mountain?” Mourice asked, pointing towards a rocky peak that rose out of the dense forest.

The little girl nodded her head. “Yes!”

“Villeneuve is on the other side.” He said, circling his arm around the girl’s waist as the carriage suddenly jolted.

The girl looked up at her father’s face with her big, brown eyes. “Will we be there before tonight, Dad?”

Maurice looked a little thoughtful. “Today… I’m not sure. But I’m sure we’ll be there tomorrow at the latest.”

The little girl didn’t seem too happy about having to sleep outside for another night.

Suddenly, Mourice thought of something that would surely help lift his daughter’s mood. “Would you like to hear a story, Belle?”

His daughter practically leapt out of his lap with excitement. “Yes! I want to hear the one about the princess and the witch!”

Maurice chuckled. He wished his other children were as easy to please.

“All right. A long time ago in a kingdom far, far away…”

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Two people, one large and one small, travelled from the direction of Villeneuve on horseback. They rode silently, both individuals too consumed in their thoughts for conversation. Well, that was the case for the tallest one, at least.

The smaller one, a boy around seven years old, was laying down on his horse’s back. He’d pulled a leather cap over his eyes to block out the summer sun. Currently, he was staring up at the white clouds from underneath the cap, watching as they slowly made their journey across the sky. How the horse was able to travel in the correct direction, essentially without any guidance from its rider, was anyone’s guess.

The other individual was a large man with greying, black hair and a voluminous beard. He was on the verge of nodding off as well. The jostling of the horse and the cool summer breeze made him wish that he was back home, basking in the sun with a drink in his hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, he looked at his son ‘riding’ next to him.

Gaston had grown up splendidly in the past seven years. He was a strappingly handsome lad with curly locks of black hair that fell to his shoulders. If his eyes were currently revealed, any observer would marvel at their honey brown color that bordered on golden.

Aside from his looks, and his larger-than-average frame, Gaston had proven to be an incredibly intelligent and mature child. His mother, the priest and old Gilette were full of praise for the boy.

However, Claude himself felt a little… unsettled. The nightmarish events of that night were still fresh in his mind. One midnight, he’d gone to dig up the infant corpses buried out in the woods. He wished to confirm for himself if the things that night really happened. However, when he made it to the bottom of the sloppy grave, he found… nothing.

There were no corpses.

He strictly remembered burying them there. Wild animals digging them up were a possibility. However, Claude had stacked rocks at the spot and made distinctive markings on each one of them. Those were gone as well. Had someone found the remains, or… had none of it ever happened in the first place?

Over time, he came to realize there was no use dwelling on it. He would drive himself mad before long.

Still, some of these thoughts would come to the forefront of his mind during times of silence. The thing that helped Claude get his mind off the morbid topic was ironically none other than Gaston himself. Aside from his abnormal competency, the boy was normal in all other aspects. If there was one thing, it was that he seemed a bit quiet for a lad his age.

Well, that wasn’t too strange, Claude thought. After all, Gaston wasn’t able to interact with the other village children. Claude felt guilty towards the boy. It was none other than he who was responsible for the La Fayette family’s pariah status in Villeneuve.

Suddenly finding the silence a bit suffocating, Claude decided to speak to his son. “Thinking about meeting the girls?”

Gaston shifted the stalk of grass he’d been chewing on to the corner of his mouth before replying. “Why would I? I’m not even eight years old yet.”

Claude shook his head with a serious expression. “Noble children your age would already have gotten engaged.”

Gaston didn’t deign his father with a reply, instead reaching into the satchel that hung from the side of his horse. He pulled out a piece of dried meat and a cube of hard, white cheese before starting to taking bites out of each in turn.

Claude thought, not for the first time, that the boy really had a voracious appetite. It really was for the best that they lived out here in the wilderness. If they’d been in a city, Claude wouldn’t have been able to provide enough meat for his son.

“You know your mother wants grandchildren as soon as possible.” Claude said, his smile teasing.

“I’m not sure I’m the ‘fatherly’ type.” Gaston said, speaking through mouthfuls of food.

Claude snorted. “And I am?” Suddenly feeling a bit peckish himself, he took out some of his own rations. He bit off a piece of hardtack with the side of his mouth. The cracking sound was so loud that it actually startled a few birds from the nearby tree branches.

“Mourice tells me that his eldest daughter is particularly fair, although she has a rather fiery personality. You’ll have to tame her.”

Gaston’s expression turned thoughtful, the one corner of his mouth curving upwards a little.

Claude grinned when he saw this. “Hah! So you like a challenge, do you?” He chewed and swallowed the last bits of bread in his mouth before continuing. “Once you’re old enough, and you decided you like her, get her with child. A few glasses of the stuff father Fredo keeps in his cellar should do the trick. Your mother and I will take care of the consequences.”

Gaston, who was about to swallow, suddenly let out a choking cough, spraying bits of food all over the surrounding brush. He lost his balance, almost falling off his horse before he managed to sling a leg into one stirrup. Righting himself, he looked at his father with a strange expression.

Claude slapped his thigh as he let out a loud belly-laugh. Teasing his stoic son had become one of his favorite pastimes. Once he managed to calm down, he turned to Gaston with a serious expression on his face. “Your mother was the one who suggested this, so if you ever feel the urge, go right ahead.”

Gaston shook his head speechlessly.

After the boy composed himself, he spoke. “It’s not like sir Le Marquand is going to call his daughter ugly. Who knows what she really looks like?” Gaston said, brushing crumbs of cheese from his leather vest.

Claude opened his mouth, intending to tell his son of the time he’d met Maurice’s wife, Henrietta. If the girl was anything like her mother, then Gaston certainly wouldn’t find her appearance lacking.

Before he could speak, he heard the noise of rolling carriages off in the distance. Gaston had become similarly silent, turning his head to listen to the faint sound.

“Sounds like they’re nearby.” Said Claude, straining his eyes to check for anything resembling a carriage.

Gaston tried to hide it, but it was clear he was excited to meet the Le Marquands.

Claude gave up trying to spot it. What they were hearing was likely just an echo, the carriages themselves still being some distance away. He turned and spoke to Gaston.

“Let's pick up the pace, If you’re confident in your riding skills.” 

Gaston looked at his father and nodded with a confident look on his face.

The two of them flicked their reins, urging the horses to increase their speed. The terrain was treacherous, but the animals had lived all their lives in these woods. They were used to it.

The sun continued its journey westwards as the two travelled, causing the trees’ shadows to stretch towards them like a legion of clawing hands.

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