was warm and breathing. The rain had stopped.
Jasper covered Henry with the topmost cloak, which was almost dry, and staggered to the captain.
"Where are we?"
"Not sure. Brittany, mayhap."
"You promised to take us to France."
Exasperation showed on the captain's weary face. "God makes the weather and the wind. I only try to keep them from sinking my ship. I told you before we left that a storm was coming."
"But the weather is better now. Can you not go on to France?"
"I could. It would not take much above a week to get there—if we got there at all with this battered rig. And what of the boy? Do you think he'd last another week?"
Jasper forgot the man's impertinence when he glanced toward Henry. Was he asleep or in that coma which precedes death? "Land, then! Make land as soon as you can."
He dared not touch the boy. If Henry were asleep, it would be cruelty to wake him. They docked at last, and Jasper released the boy's bonds, gathering him in his arms to carry him ashore.
"Uncle, I want to walk."
Relief swept over Jasper, and admiration for his tough little nephew. Henry seemed to need no more than steadying on his feet, though shudder after shudder shook him. His eyes took in the miserable town, the gray clouds, the sea.
"Is this France, uncle?"
"No, Brittany. I will buy horses so that we can ride to France."
"Must we?" Henry's voice betrayed his faintness.
"Not now, boy," Jasper replied, tightening his grip. "Rest and get warm. You must regain your strength."
"I did not mean now, uncle. I meant … Can we not seek a haven here? The Breton people are like our Welsh. I—I do not love France."
"Nor I, but you have some claim upon the French king and none upon Francis of Brittany. What is to stop him from selling you back to Edward?"
But the choice was not theirs. The innkeeper, sensing that this was no merchant family, sent for the local nobleman and delayed them with one excuse after another until his patron arrived. The gentleman recognized his own kind at once. He was kind, he was courteous, but he was also deft. In a very few days, Henry and Jasper found themselves being presented to the duke of Brittany.
Francis II was a big man, no longer young, with a kindly, shrewd face. Henry felt more secure the moment he looked at him. He welcomed the two strangers in a deep, pleasant voice and asked for news of England. Jasper told the truth. They were penniless exiles fleeing for their lives.
"Ay, Lord Pembroke, I can understand why you would not be welcome to Edward, but you, young man"—Francis turned to Henry—"what crime have you committed?"
"I was born." Henry's careful schoolboy French concealed the quick calculations going on in his mind. He could pretend ignorance or try to conceal his importance to Edward. Still, the longer Francis had to consider his value, the higher the price for him would rise. And the higher the price, the longer the haggling. Every day out of Edward's hands was a day gained, a day in which something might happen to their benefit.
"I am now the closest living male relative of Henry VI."
" Pauvre petit ," sighed the duchess, sitting beside Francis.
Henry's clear eyes rested on Francis's wife. He smiled, permitting his lips to tremble. One could not have too many allies, and Duke Francis seemed fond of his wife.
"And what do you want from me, gentlemen?" Francis was still smiling at his duchess's remark.
Jasper hesitated. France seemed safest, but, though Francis and Louis were now at peace, they had been enemies a long time.
"I would like to stay here." Henry's eyes remained on the duchess, "But, of course, my uncle knows best and must decide."
"Francis, you cannot turn the child away," the duchess pleaded, her hand on her husband's arm.
The duke's eyes met Jasper's, and he smiled broadly. "I have no intention of doing so, my dear. You are perfectly safe here now, Lord Pembroke," he added. "I hope you also will wish to stay."
"Most certainly, my lord." Jasper's voice
Jasper covered Henry with the topmost cloak, which was almost dry, and staggered to the captain.
"Where are we?"
"Not sure. Brittany, mayhap."
"You promised to take us to France."
Exasperation showed on the captain's weary face. "God makes the weather and the wind. I only try to keep them from sinking my ship. I told you before we left that a storm was coming."
"But the weather is better now. Can you not go on to France?"
"I could. It would not take much above a week to get there—if we got there at all with this battered rig. And what of the boy? Do you think he'd last another week?"
Jasper forgot the man's impertinence when he glanced toward Henry. Was he asleep or in that coma which precedes death? "Land, then! Make land as soon as you can."
He dared not touch the boy. If Henry were asleep, it would be cruelty to wake him. They docked at last, and Jasper released the boy's bonds, gathering him in his arms to carry him ashore.
"Uncle, I want to walk."
Relief swept over Jasper, and admiration for his tough little nephew. Henry seemed to need no more than steadying on his feet, though shudder after shudder shook him. His eyes took in the miserable town, the gray clouds, the sea.
"Is this France, uncle?"
"No, Brittany. I will buy horses so that we can ride to France."
"Must we?" Henry's voice betrayed his faintness.
"Not now, boy," Jasper replied, tightening his grip. "Rest and get warm. You must regain your strength."
"I did not mean now, uncle. I meant … Can we not seek a haven here? The Breton people are like our Welsh. I—I do not love France."
"Nor I, but you have some claim upon the French king and none upon Francis of Brittany. What is to stop him from selling you back to Edward?"
But the choice was not theirs. The innkeeper, sensing that this was no merchant family, sent for the local nobleman and delayed them with one excuse after another until his patron arrived. The gentleman recognized his own kind at once. He was kind, he was courteous, but he was also deft. In a very few days, Henry and Jasper found themselves being presented to the duke of Brittany.
Francis II was a big man, no longer young, with a kindly, shrewd face. Henry felt more secure the moment he looked at him. He welcomed the two strangers in a deep, pleasant voice and asked for news of England. Jasper told the truth. They were penniless exiles fleeing for their lives.
"Ay, Lord Pembroke, I can understand why you would not be welcome to Edward, but you, young man"—Francis turned to Henry—"what crime have you committed?"
"I was born." Henry's careful schoolboy French concealed the quick calculations going on in his mind. He could pretend ignorance or try to conceal his importance to Edward. Still, the longer Francis had to consider his value, the higher the price for him would rise. And the higher the price, the longer the haggling. Every day out of Edward's hands was a day gained, a day in which something might happen to their benefit.
"I am now the closest living male relative of Henry VI."
" Pauvre petit ," sighed the duchess, sitting beside Francis.
Henry's clear eyes rested on Francis's wife. He smiled, permitting his lips to tremble. One could not have too many allies, and Duke Francis seemed fond of his wife.
"And what do you want from me, gentlemen?" Francis was still smiling at his duchess's remark.
Jasper hesitated. France seemed safest, but, though Francis and Louis were now at peace, they had been enemies a long time.
"I would like to stay here." Henry's eyes remained on the duchess, "But, of course, my uncle knows best and must decide."
"Francis, you cannot turn the child away," the duchess pleaded, her hand on her husband's arm.
The duke's eyes met Jasper's, and he smiled broadly. "I have no intention of doing so, my dear. You are perfectly safe here now, Lord Pembroke," he added. "I hope you also will wish to stay."
"Most certainly, my lord." Jasper's voice
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