Gardens (Royal Palace of Warwick), 12.00
Francis walked through the green and fresh rose gardens in the external area of the castle. He walked calmly on the cobbled street that stood out in the interlude between the massive marble stairs that led to the rear entrance of the castle and the high hedges of red roses. He did not know how or why, but he remembered those fragrant roses with a lot of affection, they partially reminded him of his childhood.
At his birth in fact, his mother was just seventeen years old and she knew precisely that she would have no future by raising an illegitimate son of a noble who in any way would not have had help her. Francis's birth had in fact drawn the queen's attention to his young mother, thus deciding to make a common young courtesan her protégé. He had grown up there, at the castle, as a protege of the royal family and had until then had the opportunity to serve at court as a cupbearer, but at the same time honing his fighting qualities.
He had joined the army at the age of fifteen, by order of his father, he had always been protected by his paternal uncle, Captain Hoover, and it had been since then, that he had not had a chance to meet his mother again. Francis heard the conversation behind the corner that the flowering hedge and as the voices became more familiar and closer he was able to recognise who was speaking.
He soon he was able to see her again, see his mother.
She hadn't changed at all since he last saw her, she continued to preserve her beauty, her sweet smell, the same as he remembered it. Her golden brown hair was closed in a quick bun at the nape of her neck, the blush hadn't gone from her cheeks as the strong pink colour hadn't disappeared from her thin lips. The movements of the one and the other stopped instantly, their eyes met, the lips of his mother parted in a smile.
Francis carefully observed his mother's eyes, he loved their blue colour, he liked their expressiveness. On the other hand, he had inherited his eyes from his father, a hazelnut brown colour.
Beside his mother there was a young boy near to her he must have been between twelve or thirteen years old and was in every way very pretty. He had wavy golden blond hair and big light-blue eyes and from seeing him he could be a member of the royal family. Francis recognised him at first sight, despite the fact that he was eight years old at the birth of the other.
His name was Thomas, and he was his younger half-brother. He had left the castle when the young boy was only four, but he knew for sure that the boy remembered him.
-Francis! - the boy screamed in joy -you're back! You are all safe and sound!- his brother threw himself on him and began to laugh, so much and so sweetly, giving Francis a further sense of attachment to his younger brother. Francis looked at those thick golden hair and immediately a sense of strangeness came to him, almost as if he were not hugging his own brother.
He had never known who Thomas's father was, and every time it came to talk about such a topic, his mother refused to reveal who he was or even just say the man's name. At first he did not understand why it was so important to keep it such a secret, and on the other hand he imagined and was almost sure that his young brother was an illegitimate child, exactly like him.
Anyway, what calmed his thoughtful mind at that moment, was that feeling of familiarity and love. In all that time, in all the battles he had fought, he had always prayed that he would survive and that one day he could see his loved ones again. Now he stood there, motionless, with his beloved younger brother in his arms, hugging him, caressing his thick golden hair.
His relationship with Thomas could not be easily explained, also because he did not believe that in this chaotic world there could be such a strong bond between brothers. The little boy was born that Francis was already beginning to push his first steps into the adults society, and it was perhaps due to the considerable age difference that the man felt an innate sense of protection towards him.
-I'm here Thomas, I'm back ...- he whispered in his ears speaking calmly. He placed the body of his younger brother back on the ground.
His mother was the second to immediately jump into his arms. The woman hugged her son with affection, she hugged him, almost as if she were afraid of losing him. She cried tears of joy, and held the son's body close to her. She dipped her delicate fingers into his wavy hair.
-Francis, my beloved son, I was so afraid of having lost you forever ... - these words came out of his mother's lips like sobs. The man knew that there was no love greater than that of a mother, he knew how much she loved him and how much she had always done since the moment he came into the world. The woman had never made any distinction between any of her children, and this helped the two brothers to have a much more sincere and good relationship.
-It's all right mother ... - Francis put a hand on the woman's shoulder -I'm here now, I'm here with you ... - The eyes of the two brothers met. Thomas had big light-blue eyes full of hope and playfulness, which at his tender age were understandable. Francis was still quite amazed to have seen his brother so grown up that he almost gave him a sense of strangeness.
-Will you teach me to fight, brother? - the young boy asked immediately after moving a long wooden stick in the air - I also want to become a great fighter like you one day ... -. The man smiled and approached the young brother until he could chaotically caress his wavy blond hair.
-My little, beloved, brother- Francis let out from his thin lips -you are still too young to learn such complicated and harmful things as shooting with a musket- Thomas seemed at first not happy with what he had heard, but after a short time he found a way to calm himself down.
Francis knew well what the boy wanted, but he was not yet ready for the idea that one day his young and innocent brother could take the lives of many people. He wasn't used to it because it wasn't the Thomas he knew. That boy would have had a long way ahead of him, but during that time the man liked to believe that the young man's soul had been preserved as innocent as it had always been.