Chapter 49: The inn
Francis and Brooklyn had waited late at night when everyone was asleep before meeting secretly in the east wing of the castle.
They knew that part of the castle was partially uninhabited and for this reason it was provided with a minor service of royal guards to control entrances and exits.
Features that only a noble born and raised there like Francis was able to know.
The appointment was scheduled at midnight.
The goal of the two was to reach the town inn as soon as possible in disguise and it would be there, where without any control, they would begin to persuade the commoners of the unjust conditions of life imposed on them by the crown.
Francis was not exactly the type to go out at night but in his twenties and due to his innate curiosity he had managed to know the town really well.
He knew that the inn they would arrive at was a cheap place where customers were usually hosted even with the most desperate economic situations.
They would have exposed themselves, and would have initially followed their cause in order to earn some money and their freedom.
And so it was that once found the two, slowly and without any noise, went into the darkness of the huge royal garden.
Francis was the one holding the iron lantern, holding it in front of them.
Brooke on her side hugged herself as much as possible to the other's body, she placed her hands on his chest and stood near him, almost as if she was terrified by the surrounding darkness.
They quickly left the huge garden and it was only a matter of half an hour before the two entered the stony and wide city streets.
Brooklyn realized how different were the realities that divided nobility from simple commoners.
Inside the castle everyone had their own room, warm, large and comfortable, the surroundings always smelled of essence of lily and lavender and at breakfast everything smelled of warm and fragrant bread.
In the surroundings of the city nothing was as she remembered: the surroundings were cold and gloomy, rarely illuminated by a few lights, the streets paved with large stones were damp and smelled of urine and chamber pots that were emptied there and the streets were often populated by homeless people who rarely had anything to eat.
Everything was so strange, so unexpected, so much so as to make the girl understand that the nobility there had definitely spent more on their own well-being and pomp at the expense of the people.
They soon reached the inn, which was a large room but too dark and shabby to be habitable or even open to visitors.
The smell of individuals there was unpleasant and a strong smell of alcohol spread in the air.
-Two mugs of beer please, for me and for my friend here- Francis asked placing two silver coins on the heavy and damp wooden counter.
The counterman soon grabbed the two silver coins without hesitation, checking they were true and filled the two mugs with beer from a woody barrel behind him.
Brooke looked around, she observed what kind of people were there.
She knew many of them, in a month, could not even earn two silver coins, but in a short time Francis interrupted her concentration by handing her one of the mugs of beer.
-Do you want us to get drunk?- she asked smiling at her friend as she mirrored her image inside the golden beer.
-I just want you to be more comfortable and fluent in your speech- Francis admitted smiling and finding a small table for both to sit around.
At those words Brooklyn smiled at him again with a shy and embarrassed smile of someone who is almost afraid.
The young woman felt the pressure and insistence of other people's gazes on her.
-Come on, drink- his friend urged her.
So Brooklyn took a sip of the large mug into her mouth, between her lips.
She tasted it, it was good, it crackled in her mouth, she wanted more so sip after sip it didn't take too long for the mug to be completely empty and she found herself cheerfully full of courage.
Brooke climbed onto the woody back of the table clutching the mug in her weak hands.
The attention fell solely and completely on her.
-Are you not annoyed? - Brooklyn asked dropping the big mug from his hands -aren't you tired of being subjected to the pressure of the crown every day?-.
At those words all the people critically started whispering and throwing weird gazes at the young woman.
-Are you not tired of starving, while princess Isabelle lives in luxury and rides in prized carriages? It is time now for all this injustice to come to an end, for our children to have a good future and be proud of what their parents have done ...-.
A long silence full of embarrassment followed those words before a voice from the audience shouted that that statement was true.
At that dozens of other voices rose in jubilation all around the room.
-The day will come when the powerful will be thrown from their thrones and it will be our time to protest, to take the situation in our hands- Brooklyn repeated this time more motivated by the jubilation of the others.
-There will come a day without slaves and without masters where everyone can have their say without any threat of death but this day must come thanks to us, tanks to our strength and our courage- she said happily raising the empty mug above the crowd.
-A toast to us! To a new beginning, to the revolution!- Brooke urged as dozens of other mugs enthusiastically rose in the air.
Almost as worried a hand slowly began to pull her brown jacket almost as if it wanted to get her attention.
He was next to her, it was Francis who with a worried look began to stare without moving his gaze from the door.
He was sweating, his face was pale.
Brooke put her ear close to his friend's thin lips to hear what he had to say.
-We have to run away immediately...- Francis exhorted shortly observing the young woman, helping her to get off the table -the guards are here...- the marquis pointed next to the door.
At those words an unbridled pursuit began.
Francis, now in the grip of fear no longer cared about public opinion and took Brooklyn's hand.
At the same time as the guards with batons and rifles slung over their shoulders tried to reach the two fugitives in the crowd, most of the people tried to get in the way, to let them escape.
And luckily for them the bartender on their side showed the two a small door which led out to a secondary street where once in the evening all the rubbish was thrown.
They hurried out of there, running as fast as they could to the nearest outlet on another street and thus crushing their bodies beside the dark, damp wall.
They did not see what happened but soon heard voices appear again in the dark alley.
-Where are they?- one of the guards asked with breathless voice -they seem to have disappeared-.
Soon the crack of a flame was followed by the strong, sickening smell of smoke.
-I don't know...- the other replied with his mouth half closed by the cigarette -they were still two younglings, two rebels, nothing to really worry about-.
At those words the door closed a second time giving the two fugitives a few minutes to catch their breath after the run.
-So? - Brooklyn asked panting and placing the palms of her hands on her knees -I don't know how to say it went, those people in there seemed to appreciate what I was saying...-.
But Francis's thoughts were now elsewhere, he was looking at the sky, the darkness was replaced by a strange heat and a slight light.
-It's becoming daytime- the young man admitted keeping his lips parted in surprise -I didn't think it had been so long ...-.
At those words Brooke lifted her mulatto face up to look him in the face.
-We have to go- Francis said -it's been so long that it will already be five in the morning- and so said the two began to take the road to the castle again.
When Francis made his way to his room silently reopening the door, it was then that the worst surprise hit him.
He saw his father inside his room.
He was standing, looking out the window angrily almost as if he were only expecting the worst from his son.
Inside his hands he kept a precious but squat glass, inside which there was a substance with an amber and sticky colour, it looked like rum.
-Where have you been last night Francis?- the man asked with a stern look looking at his son only with half profile.
Francis was afraid of him, so much so that his hands began to tremble and he could only look away.
-I went out father, downtown...- he admitted not daring to look his parent in the eyes.
The atmosphere was cold and tense before the breaking of the glass was heard.
Francis noticed the stain that had formed on the wall and the shards of the glass on the floor: in his anger his father must have vigorously throw the precious glass from which he was drinking against the wall.
-I hope you are kidding, apparently you want to make me look like a complete joke in the eyes of the royal house ...-.
-What do you mean? - the young man dared to ask how much more he increased the anger in his father's body.
-Yesterday in the evening...- the marquis began to tell with an innate seriousness grabbing a cutter from the precious table in his son's room -princess Isabelle visited you but found no one in your room- the man's eyes went on the silver blade of the small, pocket-sized cutter.
-Give me your arms, Francis- said Edward Hoover meeting the brown eyes of his son, the same colour of his.
The young man expected it, his father would not have been so kind to him, he had never been so and so now he had to repay all the actions he had made that evening.
He didn't want to but he was constricted to do it.
So slowly he lifted the white sleeve of the shirt that covered his arm, exactly where he already possessed the scars and the father began to beat with strength and anger with the blade against his son's arm.
His skin held out shortly, already ripped from other wounds and it didn't take long for his forearm to turn into a stream of blood.
It felt down to his hands, his fingers, until it reached the marble floor through drops.
Francis had desperately started crying, it hurt and the tears that came out of his eyes, were the ones that hurt the most of all.
- You will go to the princess- his father ordered him with rage placing the knife wet from the red blood on the table - and you will clarify the situation...do you understand me, bastard?-.
Francis looked up at his father, his brown eyes were full of tears.
At those words Edward smiled and in so doing dipped one of his hands in his son's wavy brown hair almost as if to caress them and at the same time pull them.
-Now I believe you- the man soon admitted removing his hand from the hair of his son who slumped on his knees on the floor was holding back tears.
At that moment Johanna Cross entered his bedroom.
She stood still, Francis soon realised it was his mother, giving her a pained look.
The woman covered her rosy and gentle mouth with her long, delicate fingers as her brown hair fell on her flat lap through a long tail placed at the nape of her neck.
She was horrified by the conditions in which her son was and by the presence of Edward Hoover, the man she hated so much, the man who had previously made her pregnant with a child he did not want and abandoned her.
-Good day, Johanna- the marquis ventured giving a quick glance at her terrified face -you were only seventeen the last time I saw you, you remained the same, good-looking, young...- but those words soon flew out of the woman's mind as she quickly rushed to check how her son was doing.
She caressed his hair, she hugged him as she did when Francis was a child in order to calm him down, she checked his forearm, all the blood that came out of it, his wounds.
-Why?- the woman asked analysing the blows of her son -Why did you do this to our son?-.
At those words the man pulled an arrogant smile on his face.
-Our son is weak, disobedient and rebellious, in his twenties he should have learned how the world works...- Edward said starting towards the exit -you do not know for example that tonight he went downtown, perhaps to sleep with one of the his male lovers...- at those words the woman remained motionless but with this discovery she did not let the closeness with her son vanish.
-Should I listen to lessons in justice from a slaver?- the woman asked him, getting back on her feet -long ago you left a young girl of just seventeen here expecting a child and at that time you never took care of her, nor of her son that you yourself had generated...- the woman reminded the man who so much claimed to know -You are no better than any other Edward and I don't care who Francis may love, I love him and respect him for who he is- Johanna looked shortly at her son, gave him a light smile of support.
But the man who was already careless of the woman's opinions or emotions had hurriedly left the room, on the other hand he was a lord, he was the royal minister of foreign economy and could not have any further time to waste.
Johanna helped her son sit on the sheets of his bed and immediately went to get some pure alcohol and bandages.
She had to help him, he was her son and if she had waited the wound would have rejected even more blood.
The mother sat next to her son and in the process let him rest his head surrounded by wavy brown hair on her shoulder.
She soon soaked the alcohol in the small and white cloth handkerchief that she carried with her and slowly began to dab the wounds.
Francis complained and his mother immediately understood, on the other hand it was pure alcohol and to disinfect it first had to burn slightly on his skin.
-It is good that it burns- his mother consoled him shortly by placing one of her hands in the young man's hair -this means it is disinfecting your wounds-.
At these words Francis waited briefly before asking him to ask the question.
-How did you make it mother?- he asked still aching from his wounds -how did you fall in love with such a man?-.
The woman hesitated briefly to answer before taking the long, white bandages to cover the wounds.
-I never fell in love with him, Francis- Johanna began to explain tightening the bandages around her son's forearm -at the time I was only seventeen and I was a simple courtesan so I had to obey every order, even to those of your father...- she admitted still rolling the white and soft bandages around her son's forearm.
Francis had no more words, no questions, so he brought his lips close to his mother's ear.
-I didn't go downtown to meet someone- he admitted slowly whispering -but to gain justice for all of us ...-.
The woman was struck, stopping her actions shortly and observing for a long time into complete emptiness -What do you mean? What do you want to do?-.
-I can't say it yet but I know it will be something big, which at the right moment you will understand- the young man admitted slowly trying to smile.
It was hard with the pain but he tried, he did it for his mother.
Johanna smiled back at the young marquis and quickly left a kiss on his forehead -you know I can't understand your silly adventures- she joked slowly getting up from her son's bed and going to the door.
Francis was amazed, his mother most likely did not believe what he was saying or had taken it as some sort of joke.
But he seriously wished something big would happen but the future was too distant and almost incomprehensible to some people.
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