Beast: Great Bloodlines Converge Read Online Free Page A

in Rouen where she would be put to death. De Russe wouldn’t let anyone else touch her until she got onto the wagon.
    The town had turned out for the execution, a massive event for the French. Clad in the men’s clothing, the only clothing she had been allowed to wear, and her dark hair cut in a short bob that came to the bottom of her ears, la Pucelle was both jeered and cheered as she was taken to the town square, with its massive marketplace, for maximum exposure for her execution. There was a frenzy in the air this day, something rarely seen, as the entire city gathered in the square, waiting, watching, for the Maid to be put to death.
    De Russe was astride his charger, riding just before the wagon, clearing out the crowds who were gathering in the road. He was an impressive sight, a massive knight astride an equally massive charger as dark as coal, kicking people aside when they didn’t move quickly enough. He also managed to trample three people to death when they rushed the wagon, grabbing for the Maid. He had rushed back to pull them away and ended up killing them. He wasn’t sorry in the least.
    With the cathedral in the background, the square was a vast, open place of dirt and people. The Maid’s pyre had been set up, with piles of wood being soaked in oil and an oil-soaked stake that she would be attached to. About twenty feet away was a platform, having been built over the past few days, which would contain the tribunal to watch the execution. As de Russe led the procession into the square, warming in the early sun, already he could see that both civil and ecclesiastical dignitaries were gathering, including Bedford.
    De Russe’s gaze lingered on John de Lancaster, the Duke of Bedford, whose father had been Henry IV. He was a rather short man with a big nose and a very big forehead. He had a reputation for being both fair and fearless, and his military acumen was unmatched. De Russe had always respected him up until the last few months when the duke’s cunning mind had turned against a nineteen-year-old girl. Now, he realized he had no more respect for Bedford at all. Perhaps that was the terrible hollow feeling he had been experiencing, disgust and mistrust where there had once been veneration.
    The duke smiled at de Russe when the man went by, obviously pleased to see him leading the prisoner to her doom, but de Russe didn’t acknowledge him. He continued on to the pyre and, dismounting his charger and handing the beast over to the nearest soldier, waited for the wagon to come to a halt.
    The job of securing the Maid to the stake should have been left to the executioners but de Russe couldn’t seem to do it. He took the Maid by her skinny arm and put her back against the pole, proceeding to tie her hands behind her back excruciatingly tightly, so tight in fact that her fingers turned blue. When a soldier handed him a chain to reinforce the tie, as rope would burn away, he tied that on tightly, too. As he was securing the chain, he whispered softly into her right ear.
    “The binds are tight because I do not want you to pull free and try to run,” he explained. “Nothing would be worse than watching you run around the square as you burn to death. You must remain here. It will be quicker this way. I hope you understand.”
    The Maid didn’t look at him, knowing he was doing this as a courtesy to her. She nodded, briefly, but her fear was getting the better of her. The acrid smell of oil was filling her nostrils and she knew that, soon, she and the oil and smoke and fire would become one. As she felt the last of the chains going around her body now, securing her tightly to the pole, she felt someone squeeze her hand. She knew it was de Russe. He squeezed it one last time and then he was gone. It was a sweetly poignant last gesture, something that filled her heart with peace.
    The tribunal filled the platform now, watching as the guards moved away from the prisoner so the pyre could be lit. As the sun