Gaston - Chapter 4 (Patreon)

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Orange sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy that sheltered the little camp of three adults and twelve children. A large pot had been set over the roaring fire and a pleasant meaty smell filled the air. The cook, Margaret, had tossed their hard, dry leftovers into some water along with any wild vegetables and herbs they’d managed to gather during their journey. Fortunately, they still had some dried meats to provide the pot with some substance.

A certain pimply boy was currently stirring the fire with his stick. It hadn’t needed to serve as a weapon today, so he thought to use it as a fire-poker. Their duties were finished, so Bertrand sat with his brothers around the fire, enjoying his rest after a long day of travelling and labor.

His thoughts were pleasant as he contemplated Gaston’s return: he thought of how the younger boy would enter the camp with hands empty of any prey and with a sheepish expression on his face. Bertrand had seen it all before; how other boys would try to pull some stunt to impress Anastasia. They had made fools of themselves every time.

His brow furrowed a little in distaste as he thought of the exception. Louis had been disturbingly competent at wooing the Marquand princess. If there was one good thing that came out of this whole mess, it would be the fact that the pretty-boy noble was no longer able to interact with Anna.

Bertrand’s thoughts were interrupted by an exclamation from his father: “Ah, Gaston! That’s quite the catch you have there. It seems your father wasn’t exaggerating about your skill with the bow.”

The twelve-year-old leap to his feet, his eyes staring unbelievingly at Gaston who’d quietly entered the clearing without him noticing. Every part of Gaston’s body had some type of bird tied to it - it looked like he’d tried to disguise himself as a pile of fowl corpses.

Margaret walked over to help him as he started untying the knots, dropping kill after kill on a vacant spot of grass. She looked at the boy with consideration before speaking: “You’ve brought us quite a bounty for tonight’s dinner. I’ll admit, I thought you were full of bluster, but it seems you were just confident in your own skill.”

She took a handful of birds and carried them over to a pot of boiling water they’d prepared for their other needs. “Come girls, I’ll be needing some help with the plucking. Be careful not to scald yourselves.”

Some of the younger girls went, but Margaret sent them away. This duty was for the older sisters. “You too, Anastasia. I would be happy to care for all, but I am only one servant.” She took a smaller pigeon, setting it aside for the older girl to prepare. “It will be over quickly. Many hands make for light work, after all.”

Margaret had known every one of the children since the day they were born, and she’d cared for them like her own. Even Anastasia had a measure of respect for her.

However, the blonde goddess didn’t look up from where she was sitting. She daintily took a sip from the brothy appetizer in her hands before addressing Bertrand: “Bertrand, go pluck that bird.”

The boy in question showed a confused expression. Why was he being singled out? He looked at his sister with a wronged expression. “Why are you asking me?”

Anastasia looked at him with a regal expression before straightening her legs, smoothing her pretty dress with one hand as she did so. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.” Her free hand went to the hem of her dress, adjusting it.

Bertrand felt a chill on the back of his neck. Whenever Anna took this kind of attitude, it usually meant that she had some kind of leverage over one of them. Given how pointedly she was playing with her dress, it could only mean one thing… she knew.

Bertrand waved his hands back and forth with and awkward laugh. “No, I want to!”

He had a smile on his face as he walked over to the pigeon, but inwardly he was clenching his teeth.

The boys had started helping with the laundry sometime during their journey. Margaret had insisted that it was a woman’s duty and that she and the girls were more than capable of handling the chore, but his father had insisted the boys provide help. Apparently, they needed to ‘get used to working’, or something like that.

Of course, they were only responsible for dealing with their own clothes. It wasn’t proper for a man to touch a woman’s clothes, even if they belonged to one’s own sisters. However, out of curiosity, Bertrand had touched one of Anna’s blue dresses when everyone was taking an afternoon nap. He didn’t know why he did what he did, but he’d raised it to his nose and taken a deep breath. It had smelled incredibly good. He was mortified by his own behavior, but at least no one had been awake to see it.

Anastasia had never worn that blue dress again. Bertrand had persuaded himself that the piece of clothing simply wasn’t fit for travel since his eldest sister had never even so much as hinted at knowing about the incident.

However, she had noticed, and now she was blackmailing him.

He was beyond embarrassed. He had no idea how her opinion of him had changed. He’d always been the one in her corner since they were children, so surely she would forgive him?

He started plucking the bird’s feathers as if they were the teeth of his most mortal enemy. His expression was placid, but his pupils fixed themselves on Gaston murderously. The other boy had nothing to do with the situation, but he was nearby and a convenient outlet for Bertrand’s anger.

‘So what if you shot a couple of pigeons? It’s not like we would have gone hungry tonight anyway.’

The younger children, both boys and girls, gathered around Gaston as he regaled them with the tale of hunting his first stag. He stood straight, with his arms raised in the motion of drawing a bow. “…carefully aimed for the liver. Then, I shot it from behind! The beast immediately collapsed, and I was able to end its life with my knife.” Gaston released an imaginary bowstring before miming the action of drawing a dagger from his waist and slicing at a carotid artery.

The little children inhaled in unison; their gazes were both frightened and intrigued. “Why did you shoot it in the liver?” A younger girl asked, her eyes wide.

“A critical liver shot is enough to incapacitate any beast.” Gaston explained, wagging one finger in the air with a scholarly expression.

The little girl nodded knowingly before turning to her older brother, whispering a question: “What’s a liver?”

“I think it’s the neck part of an animal, Mirabelle.” The boy whispered back quietly, one finger stroking his lower lip in thought.

After finishing with his story, Gaston went back to plucking a few birds he’d kept for himself. He wasn’t too fond of having his meat boiled, so he planned to roast them over the fire separately.

Bertrand saw an opportunity. He wanted to smear Gaston by pointing out his selfishness at keeping some of the meat for himself, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. After all, didn’t he hunt everything himself? Even Bertrand could see that avenue of attack was a stupid idea.

Fortunately, he was saved when his twin sister, Celia stepped in. “Aren’t you being a little selfish, Gaston? I don’t mind, but my little brothers and sisters haven’t gotten much opportunity to eat roast meat recently.”

‘Bless your empty little head, Celia.’ Bertrand thought.

They were indeed twins, as evidenced by their freckled faces and red hair, but Celia lacked his brains and social tact. He was grateful for that fact. It meant she was stupid enough to attract the negative attention to herself, allowing him to put himself in a favourable position.

“Don’t be like that, Celia.” Bertrand said, stepping in. “I’m sure our siblings don’t mind stew. Isn’t that right?” He asked, looking on as the little kids stared longingly at the golden fat that dripped from Gaston’s roast.

The young hunter was busy spit-roasting the fowls on wooden stakes he’d fashioned from a few straight-ish sticks. He said nothing, instead taking a few dried herbs from a small leather pouch and sprinkling them over the meat. They crackled and popped from the fire, emitting a mouth-watering scent.

The kids’ expressions were conflicted as they looked on. They felt it was the right thing to agree with what Bertrand said, yet at the same time they couldn’t deny how delicious the cooking birds looked.

Unfortunately for them, and for Bertrand’s scheme, Gaston paid them no attention. He continued carefully cooking his dinner, taking small nibbling bites from the roasting skin as he did so.

Celia’s face scrunched up from being ignored. “How rude.” She took two of her siblings by their hands while nudging the rest with her leg. “Let’s leave this glutton to his dinner. Margaret’s soup would taste better, in any case.”

She led the children over to where Margaret had started scooping the soupy stew into wooden bowls with a large ladle. A few dry pieces of bread were placed on a table nearby for everyone to eat from as they wished.

Gaston cooked his meat close to the fire – he was simply too hungry to wait much longer. Finally, it was done. He took a bird from the fire and chomped down on the scalding-hot meat, causing drops of grease and meat juices to flow down his chin.

A few pairs of eyes fixed themselves incredulously on the boy as he voraciously devoured his dinned. His own body seemed too small to be able to accommodate such a large quantity of food.

In a less crowded part of the little clearing, Maurice went to wipe his spectacles on reflex as he watched, only to find that he wasn’t wearing them. He turned to look at Claude’s large form which loomed silently outside the circle of firelight. The man in question was currently staring into the bowls of the forest with an unreadable expression.

“Your boy sure can eat, can’t he?” Maurice said, attempting to bring some levity to the serious atmosphere. They’d been discussing the current happenings in France, as well as Maurice’s suspicions of the crown’s involvement in his family’s downfall.

Eventually, the conversation had died down. Claude had been staring into the darkening woods with the same expression for what felt like hours, barely even paying attention to Gaston’s return.

Claude’s face was hidden in shadow, but Maurice could hear the smile in his tone. “Indeed, no-one eats like Gaston.”

Maurice nodded dumbly. He himself would perhaps have been able to make it through two birds at most, yet Gaston had already swallowed five and was now leisurely considering the sixth as he held it by its stake. It was incredible.

Before Gaston could sink his teeth into his final portion, a melodious voice sounded from the other side of the fire: “I would like that one.”

Gaston turned to look at Anastasia. She was sitting on a pile of pillows with a blanket spread underneath them. Her lady-like legs were gracefully folded underneath her with an empty wooden bowl placed next to them. She stretched out one hand, making no effort to stand up.

Gaston looked at her with a critical eye. His gaze lingered on the neckline of her dress, which had slipped down enough to expose one collarbone due to her reclining posture.

He looked down, considering the piece of meat in his hands thoughtfully. “I would, but I’m not sure if you will toss it over your shoulder also.”

The lovely girl raised her perfect eyebrows at him. “It would attract animals. I am not daft.”

Nodding in satisfaction, Gaston stood and walked over to her. He impaled the meat on his knife, allowing her to grasp the wooden stick that protruded from it.

Anastasia took it carefully, leaning forward so as not to drip anything on her clothes or the bedding. She looked at it for a moment, as if unsure how to eat it without cutlery.

Seeing her predicament, a brown-haired sister at her side handed over a flat wooden board as well as a dull knife. “Here, Anna. It should be easier to eat with these.” Anastasia nodded in thanks and started cutting the meat against the wooden plate, her fingers daintily holding on to the stick as leverage.

Gaston stood watchfully over her as she ate. After seeing that she wasn’t planning on tossing the food into the woods, he relaxed and sat down again.

The charming girl ate about half of the fowl before she was satisfied. She handed to wooden board back to her sister while speaking: “Here Lancy, why don’t you have the rest.”

The girl took it gratefully with a smile on her face. “Thanks Anna!” She said, digging into the remaining half.

Anastasia wetted a handkerchief in a bowl of warm, scented water to wipe her mouth with before soaking her hands in it as well. She looked over at Gaston. “I would enjoy sharing more of your catch in the future.” She stated, her full lips curving into a mesmerizing smile.

Gaston looked at her with a pensive expression, his eyes glowing like two orange coals in the light of the fire. Finally, his mouth curled into a little smirk as he nodded his head.

Bertrand couldn’t help sneering as he watched this.

‘You’ve just turned yourself into her personal cook, fool. You’ve accomplished nothing!’

Meanwhile, Margaret’s face showed a concerned look as she stared at her employer. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the pot and a pile of inconspicuous leaves she’d been made to add at his behest. Maurice nodded to her, motioning with his hand for her not to worry.

However, he himself felt this was rather strange. He looked over at Claude with an uncomfortable look. “I don’t understand the purpose of this, but I will concede to your requests. If you wished to harm us, you wouldn’t need to take such a roundabout manner.”

Claude’s hand went to rub at his brow. “The herb is called ‘Henbane’. It will cause the children to fall into a deep sleep. It is no poison.”

Maurice frowned. “I don’t understand. If some threat did happen upon us tonight, wouldn’t it be better if everyone were awake? What if we have to flee?”

Claude shook his head. “They are only children. If they panic, things will only become worse. It will be easier for me to protect them if they are all asleep close together.”

Now Maurice was really getting worried. He raised his hands to bite at his nails, only to catch himself and fold them in his lap instead. “Far be it from me to question you, but if things are so drastic then, why…?”

Claude smiled bitterly. “Why did I not bring any men with me from the village?” He questioned, finishing Mourice’s sentence for him. “They would not come if I asked, and if they did, I’m unsure if they would be of any help.” Claude shook his head. Naturally, he’d considered the option.

Maurice was confused. Why on earth would the village’s men refuse the request of baron La Fayette? He didn’t seem like the tyrannical type in the least. The opposite, in fact – he was rather likeable for a noble and without any pretentiousness.

After the pot had been cleaned, towards which Gaston contributed significantly despite already having swallowed half-a-dozen birds, the children set to washing the dishware under Margaret’s direction.

After they finished up for the night, they placed down their bedrolls on the cleared-out ground. The carriages, which had been drawn around the little camp in a protective semi-circle, were too small to serve as sleeping accommodations.

The camp was quiet as Gaston and Claude circled the perimeter, double-checking the traps they’d set up. If anything large tried to approach them at night, they would be warned.

Things were unusually quiet. Ordinarily, the children would have whispered to each other before falling asleep. Things were different tonight. They fell asleep practically as soon as their heads hit their pillows. They were packed tightly around the fire, boys on one side and girls on the other.

Gaston did not sleep with the other children. He leaned comfortable against a tree close by, already dead asleep as soon as he rested his head. He’d gotten the largest dose of Hensbane out of everyone, with how much he’d eaten.

After thirty minutes, everyone except for the three adults were asleep. They’d forgone eating from the pot, instead partaking from the remaining road-rations.

“Sir Claude, I wonder if you can tell us your purpose, now that the children can’t hear.” Margaret said skeptically as she watched the giant of a man.

Claude raised his open pals towards the other two people. “I don’t have a specific purpose. I’m just acting according to my instincts.”

Margaret wasn’t buying it. “Sit Claude, are instincts really…?” She started, intending to probe a bit more.

“I trust Claude’s… instincts, Margaret.” Maurice spoke, interrupting his servant. “He is most qualified to deal with this kind of thing out of all of us.” With those words said, he looked pointedly at Margaret. Maurice thought back to that ‘request’ he’d done for Claude, all those years ago.

He looked at Claude. “Are you anticipating something like that?”

Claude’s mouth turned into a frown. “No, I’ve dealt with the issue long ago. Besides, I wouldn’t have invited you if that sword of Damocles were still hanging over my head.”

Maurice rubbed his temples with his palms frustratedly. If ‘that’ wasn’t the problem, then he didn’t understand what in God’s great name had this strong man so worked up.

Claude himself seemed to have some trouble expressing his thoughts. “Look, Maurice. Let’s not concern ourselves too much with this issue. With everything that’s been going on, my imagination may be getting the best of me. Why don’t you go tend to the fire while Margaret and I take watch?” Claude glanced at the wiry woman, his eyes resting on her scarred forearms.

After a moment, the woman nodded. She went to the opposite side of the fire and sat down. She took a blade from somewhere beneath her skirts, somewhere between a sword and a dagger in length. This whole business felt ridiculous to her, but she seen some things and she knew the value of ‘better safe than sorry’.

The three of them settled down. 

Hopefully, this would just be another night spent underneath the stars.

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