Chapter 50 - Sebastian
Read if you must butremember some love stories end with a kiss.
Father John Laurent my family’s trusted healer and as a man of the cloth, promised he would let people know my true story, so I shared it with him.
My name is Sebastian Sinclair Winthrop – and this is my story.
“Winthrops always reach for glory, son. It’s what defines us, makes a king among men, a man among boys. And soon you will be ready to rule.” My father lifted his wine goblet in cheer. “Once you have wed Princess Ariella, you will assume the crown.”
“But, father, I cannot marry a lady I know not. What of love?” I spoke my mother’s words that she regaled me as I grew. Colourful tales filled with fantasies that as a young lad, I became enamoured with the idea of meeting my true love one day.
“Love is for fools,” he snorted. “The day I wed your mother was the first time I saw her. We have done well, have we not?” He pointed a finger at me then looked toward my younger twin brothers pretending to duel across the table. “As my son you have only one love to abide by, the love to conquer. Be it man or woman, you will learn to bring them to their knees and have them bow their heads to you whether you are king or not, wed or not. Men will respect you. Women will want you and you, my son, will take what they give to, freely or not.”
My eyes met Friar John’s over the table. Seated to my father’s left, he was a man to whom my father held great respect. Present at every family meal unless my father saw fit, not only was Friar John a noble of the king’s court, but a gifted healer and a trusted confidant. Many men had sought that position as though it was serving at the hand of God, itself. With his aid, I’d learned a great deal about the castle’s private business, and I deemed Friar John worthy of his title. He'd always advised me to look to my head and my heart when I lacked understanding.
Now, he smiled and slowly bobbed his head as though he knew what ailed me, encouraging me to pursue the love my heart felt for our kingdom and its people. My father wasn’
“You speak of people as though they have no feelings, father. Surely that is a travesty. How would I earn their respect, their gratitude?”
“What nonsense has your mother been filling your head with, foolish boy. You are royalty.” He roared, disgust bequeathing his handsome face a snarl.
The entire court knew that to anger my father could bring death upon that soul. Rage, I had only just begun understanding, filled my chest and I straightened in my seat, prepared to meet my father’s wrath head on. “If I am indeed royalty, why am I not allowed to choose my bride. Why am I burdened by family traditions? Surely, I deserve to decide my future.”
His fist came down against the wooden table in a hard thump, splashing wine over the sides of his goblet. My brothers’ gasps at the other end reached my ears but I dared not look at them, my eyes held prisoner by my father’s red face. His lips thinned beneath his thick whiskers, his chest rose and fell quickly. He looked to Friar John, seeking counsel.
“May I speak, sire?” Friar John asked. My father nodded. “You have raised a fine young lad who only seeks to earn his loyalty and make you proud. Perhaps if you gave him a chance to prove himself, he might surprise you.”
Father seemed to heed his words for a moment, took a long swallow of his wine, then asked, “prove himself? How?”
“I believe it is time to send him to battle with your men. He has trained well and is as ready as your sharpest knights, sire. Keeping him within the palace walls does nothing for his knowledge. A good king is only as powerful as the people who believe in him, give him their undying loyalty and worship the ground he walks on. Are those not the characteristics you possess, sire?”
His eyes on me, father combed his fingers through his beard over and over. I could see the churning thoughts in his head through his eyes. Just as he leaned forward to speak, the large wooden doors to the dining hall, creaked open and Leopold, one of the knights, walked in.
“What news do you bring, Leopold?” father asked.
“Forgive the hour, sire. Our spies in the north say the rebels are preparing for an invasion.”
“Damn those fools. Have I not shed their blood enough to turn the Sasken river red?” Father snorted, referring to the waterway and all its merging tributaries that separated Winthrop lands from both the Scottish territories on the south and rebels occupying the north.
“You did what needed to be done to keep them in line, sire,” Leopold reassured.
“How many should we send?” My father referred to his soldiers.
“If we can snare them in the valley, I would say a hundred would suffice,” Leopold replied. “Divide and conquer will work well in the valley and a smaller group on the lookout to spot stragglers.”
“Just like the last time,” father asked.
“Yes sire, only we will attack from the opposite side so that they don’t anticipate our arrival.”
Father nodded then looked at me. “It seems your time to battle has arrived sooner, son. Would this be the battle for you?”
“Yes, father.” I stood, my blood already rushing to my heart with excitement.
“Good. Leopold, my son will accompany you on this battle. Take a hundred and fifty men and make sure to bring him back alive or his mother will have your head.” Father roared with laughter.
