บท 84: Infected wounds
It was still night when Brooklyn accompanied Francis to the royal infirmary alone.
It was cold and although she was strong enough, it was not easy to drag a human body to safety in that situation.
She was alone and with all the strength left in her body she tried to get her companion to safety as soon as possible before death.
In the places where the body was dragged, traces of red and bright blood were left on the ground as if that man had turned into a human brush.
What would the doctors think, that she had shot, perhaps? She didn't know, she didn't know anything, apart from the fact that she most likely got into big trouble being there that evening.
What she was carrying was the dying body of a protégé of the queen and therefore a sort of protégé of the crown.
Francis was lucky from that point of view, he had always been, since his birth he and his mother had been taken under the great and protective wing of the crown.
Brooke did not know why exactly, his mother Johanna on the other hand was only a courtesan and her son was nothing more than an ordinary bastard, son of the Marquis of the Orkney Islands.
She supposed it was out of pity not to leave to her fate a seventeen-year-old girl, who in spite of her had conceived and given birth to a child, perhaps for that reason a royal might have chosen to support Johanna and her son Francis.
Except she could not imagine how after the birth of the young Thomas Cross, illegitimate son of the late king, the protection of the two remained unchanged.
Lady Katherine also knew that the deceased boy was actually her husband's son, yet she, after all that time, seemed to keep strangely on good terms with the latter's mother and brother.
Everything seemed a mystery within the walls of that castle, there was constantly the possibility of dying in the most varied ways: pushed out of a window, stabbed, perhaps due to a drug overdose, but never shot, never.
Because Francis wouldn't die, no, she felt it, her heart advised it.
She wouldn't let him die, not now, not in that place.
Brooke pushed the wounded man's body closer to the castle walls, massive clouds of steam emanating from her lips.
She felt on both sides of the road the dark forest becoming more and more oppressive to them.
The Dustins, those bastards had run away before they could be stopped by anyone, even by her, they had fled through the thick forest, but Brooke would have found them and by that time she would have made them regret the mere fact of having come into the world.
Immediately after the shot, Dickon had stopped to check what had happened but as soon as he was called back by his brother he ran off with him.
Brooke did not know where he was, she did not know how he felt, nor if he felt guilty in having preferred his family over his own partner in that situation, she did not know but the fact was that that night in front of Dickon Dustin's eyes a crossroads was open.
He had had the choice and by now he had chosen and she knew well that if on the one hand an alliance was opened, on the other a war was opened.
He had preferred the royals to the rebels, that was the fact, even if for years they had treated him like a brother.
It was war.
At that moment Brooke arrived with the Marquis's body at the castle gates both guards immediately rushed to their aid.
At first the guards seemed angry with them because the curfew was about to pass and the riots would soon start again and in any case the fact that they were outside the walls made them somehow suspicious.
Brooklyn felt stupid, even if the road to the woods, the one the Dustins had taken was harder and more inaccessible, she could have prevented her from making them so easily fall into suspicion. But even in the hearts of the guards there was still a bit of humanity, they soon noticed Francis who slowly and barely breathing from his mouth was still trying to keep himself alive.
-What happened, why especially nobles like you had to be outside the castle at this time of night?-.
Brooke thought briefly, she couldn't reveal the truth, how telling about the Dustin twins would be a big accusation against a rich and powerful noble house so she quickly tried to come up with an excuse.
She had to do it if she wanted them to save her mate.
-I and Lord Hoover had arrived in the woods where we used to walk and discuss philosophy together: Heraclitus, Socrates, Plato, generally of the cynical current- Brooke tried to apologise as best she could, trying to show off the his philosophical knowledge.
-passing around the St. Nicholas park a man presented himself in front of us, dressed in black, it was dark, I could not recognise him...I ran away as soon as I heard the shot and only after I went back to check how my friend was...- Brooklyn ended up justifying herself as quickly as possible.
-In any case, your friend will not be able to stay alive for too long, not if he is not checked immediately, as far as I can know of medicine the wound seems serious...-.
That man was as if vaguely out of sight she recognised him, the guard too had the classic golden hair and grey eyes of the Hannovers.
-What is your name, you say...- Brooklyn begged, having to do with his best friend she wanted to make sure to leave him in good hands.
The guard seemed struck by that question for a moment, so much so that Brooklyn understood that no one used to ask him that question.
The pale face of the guard soon changed into a grimace of amazement, why such a question in such a difficult moment?
-My name is John Hannover, son of Ernest II Hannover, nephew of the late king, firstborn son of his younger brother...- the man tried to answer by trying to hoist the body of the dying marquis on his shoulders.
Brooklyn soon realised, he also shared the same royal surname and from his father even royal blood, she was not shocked as she knew that the royal family was very large.
So even a Hannover had to work as a guard outside the castle.
All for Isabelle, but what if the princess got it into her head that John too could soon turn into an enemy for her?
Anyway quickly, John Hannover followed by Brooklyn Stanley tried to take the dying Francis, who was still breathing, to the infirmary.
He tried to take as much air into his body as possible, to breathe, keep his respiratory system, his heart, his brain active, he didn't want to die, not there, nor in that way.
Francis Hoover was entrusted to the doctor's care, it was dark, it was night and at that time many people were already asleep.
It was not possible for Brooke to enter the infirmary, it would not have been fair, nor kind to her as she would only have put pressure on the doctor, no, she had to wait in the long corridor, alone, isolated.
She hoped in the guard's company, they could talk about him, that he would reassure her about Francis's condition but John couldn't afford that much despite being an Hannover.
He came out of the infirmary room with the back of his precious uniform stained with dried blood.
John looked for a few seconds at the dark and harmonious face of the young woman who still passed off as a man, she seemed sad, her big eyes, red, tired, her black curls laid limp.
He knew he had to say something but unfortunately John had never been good in this role, he imagined, having chosen the military career he was much better with the musket than with words.
Brooke also looked into the man's eyes, his emotions were different from those she felt, he was neither tired nor sad, he seemed nervous, worried, she didn't blame him.
Being a Hannover came with great risks and responsibilities, most of all when it came to having to work for Isabelle.
John was a good person, she felt it in her heart, that he empathised with the girl, with what had happened, so, while not saying anything comforting at that moment he just placed a hand on his heart and lowered his head out of respect as it was right to do in that situation.
-Do you want me to communicate the incident to relatives? - he finally asked looking at Brooke, who in front of him, on a bench, was waiting for the first news to be given to her.
Brooke looked down, it was a difficult question to answer, she knew, she had to confess what happened to Johanna.
It would break her heart, she knew it, she imagined how painful it could be to lose a child.
But it was right to do so and give her the chance to say goodbye to her beloved son.
As John Hannover left the corridor to go to communicate the bad news to the young man's mother, another figure soon made his way through the dark cold of that corridor.
It was not a guard, she sensed it, but she knew on the shoulders of that man he held up many years of battles and wars.
His hair was quite long, black with a dull grey color.
He sat directly next to Brooke, he was actually taller and more muscular than her, so much so that it was almost impressive to see one sitting next to the other.
She didn't know who he was, so she just stared into the void ignoring his presence, she tried, at least until he started talking.
-Did you know my nephew?- the man asked -I mean...I always knew about Francis, his companions but I never imagined he could have found someone as kind as you...you saved him-.
This compliment made Brooke's dark and sweet face blush, maybe she really was Francis' companion, but for everyone she was Brooklyn and for everybody she was a man so that no one could condemn her attitudes, she just slowly nodded yes with her head.
-He was the one who found me, without me even looking for him...- Brooke admitted with a sad smile on her face, remembering with nostalgia the good times past.
-I just hope he will recover soon...that's all...- Brooklyn ended up admitting wiping some tears from her eyes.
She had to be strong but even the nobles were human and even they cried sometimes when they were sad.
The man did not seem surprised at that attitude, he too was sad, he understood it, his nephew was slowly bleeding and he could do nothing to save him.
-My name is Harald Hoover, head of the army of Great Britain, Francis, he was the son of my brother, who also died within this wall...- she regretted that man, thus making the girl even more angry .
How he could forgive such a person, he himself had seen the wounds on his nephew's arms, he therefore knew he was being beaten, he knew that he was his brother doing all that horrible stuff, he knew it, Francis had told him about it.
But he imagined a brother would still remain a brother, he imagined Gilbert, his brother, he too was dead.
Brooke was silent, her gaze, soon lowered to the marble floor, she too missed her brother.
Gilbert had betrayed and impregnated a girl, only to then abandon her and refuse the paternity of his own child, he had let their father condition him, he had discovered secret documents for him and had thus repaid them with his own life.
Even her brother had seriously committed very dangerous and stupid acts and yet, it was not a justification but he was always her brother.
Brooke slowly began to rub one of her hands against one of the sleeves of her fine dark blue jacket.
Her face had welcomed a grimace of sadness, those thoughts of her were taking away part of her soul.
-Say, young man, what is your name?- finally asked the man who sat next to her.
She tried as soon as possible to recover from her sadness, thus wiping her tears with the back of her hands leaving a certain trail of blush on her face.
-My name is Brooklyn Stanley, son of James Stanley, Gilbert was my brother, I guess you knew him... - she said waiting for a sentence of comfort.
-I knew your brother very well, and your sister too, Gilbert always used to talk about her, he loved her very much...- the man commented, faintly bringing a slight smile back to his pale face.
Brooke smiled too, she was happy to have been loved by him, despite not being aware of what love actually was.
Or maybe she knew it too, maybe she was the person with the most love that she could ever be known.
Was she seriously making the right choices or was she just leading to public genocide?
Was her best friend dying because of her? She couldn't accept it, it couldn't be true...
-I had returned here to greet my nephew, to offer him my forgiveness for what he had long ago committed and at this moment I don't even know if I will ever be able to see him again... - Harald Hoover returned to regret looking at the floor.
Brooklyn also felt inside her many emotions mixing, she did not know what to say, feel, admit, she did not know whether to cry, whether to be strong, what would help in that situation.
The door opened after a long time that the two were already waiting and while not well able to see what still awaited them both she felt a bad feeling of their heart.
They could feel it from the smell of blood which still plagued the air there, from Francis' sobs from behind the door, he was slowly dying, they knew, from the fact that the doctor's white apron was stained with dry blood.
-I tried to do everything possible... - the man also ended up looking down, closing his eyes for a few seconds.
-Life expectations are quite low so I will let you give him the last greetings... -.
Last greetings? Brooklyn was afraid, she had never been ready for that moment, she never had been, she would never have believed it.
Francis could not die, not like this and her ideals disappeared in an instant by observing the dying body of her friend who was lying helpless on the bed, staining the white sheets with his blood, gripping his stomach with strength and pain, crying.
Fear of him filled her, that wasn't the Francis she knew, that wasn't the pale, freckled and carefree face that she had always known, that now in pain had become emaciated and dying.
She took a few steps back on seeing her friend's last time in life and she felt so guilty for having done so, for being afraid on that occasion.
The room was barely illuminated by the dim light of the oil lamps but the grieving figure of Francis was the most evident that could be seen, from the crying, from the pain, from the agitation that jerked the young man's body.
His uncle, unlike the indecisive and frightened friend did not hesitate to comfort his nephew, the son of his beloved brother, in his pain.
He took the young man's head in his big hands, his wavy brown hair, held it in his hands, whispered to his nephew to stay calm, that everything would be okay, but they both knew it wouldn't be like that.
The deep wound hurt, they didn't know how much, to be at the end of his life at the premature age of twenty-eight.
Brooke placed one of her hands in front of her fleshy lips, clenched her teeth, as salty and cold tears of sadness had begun to fall from her blue eyes.
She could not stay there, not without doing anything, not now that her friend had noticed her presence, that at the end of his life he had to see her in those conditions.
Brooke did not want to go forward, not at that moment that Johanna had also arrived at her son's bedside
That woman, holding her long brown hair in a ponytail over her shoulders, had come there in her prized white nightgown.
She was able to perceive, to empathise the sadness of the woman, to understand the meaning of the tears that fell from her light blue eyes.
Johanna Cross immediately took Harald Hoover's place, this time taking in her delicate hands the head of her dying and crying son, caressing his brown and wavy hair with desperation, that woman seriously loved her son.
-Mother... - came out slowly and painfully from the pale and tight lips of the young man, he held her hands trying to calm her for once.
-Shhh... don't talk, everything will be fine... stay calm- Johanna whispered, placing a kiss with her delicate lips on the sweaty and pale forehead of her son, she thought, once he too was dead, she would be left with no one in the world.
Johanna tried to calm Francis down, to make him save his strength, to resist...
Everyone knew he was going to die but nobody wanted to admit it, not even Brooklyn that in the last acts of the friend's life she made up the courage to get close to him.
Once close to him, through the dim candlelight it was possible for her to notice the real conditions of her friend.
Francis' pale face was coloured only by the dark freckles, which all around his nose covered his face.
His pale lips had begun to take on a purplish color.
The most painful thing for her to notice was that the young man's bare abdomen was punctured about level with the liver by a deep wound.
One of his hands grabbed Brooke's hand, pulled it lightly towards him, squeezed it, it was clear even for her that he was afraid of death.
-Brooke- he whispered -you saved me, I owe you my life...-.
She shook her head quickly wiping the tears from her cheeks that had not ceased to flow for some time, he couldn't say something like that, he was dying.
-Don't be sad, it's not your fault, you have been for me the best friend I could ever want...- Francis coughed.
He smiled one last time, took the friend's soft, curly black hair in his hands.
Brooklyn felt his cold hands stay still, his body dying before his heart could.
-I will go to see your brother, I promise you I will greet him for you, Brooke...-.
They exchanged one last smile.
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