Elegy for Francis, Duke of Dukes | An Alternate History

Behind Bars

FIRST STANZA, VERSE IV

The prison Francis was kept in had an overwhelming smell of manure, as if the entire building had been a stable just days prior and was being repurposed as needed. Or maybe the prisoners were animals, lacking the human spark. "What devilry were they planning in this?" a voice echoed in Spanish, "Surely part of some larger plot." Francis leaned against the bars, trying to get a glimpse of who was speaking. "Lord have mercy, the little beast awakens," said the Regent Governor, hobbling fitfully towards the boy.

"The only beast here is you," replied Francis, "Now let me free so that I may spare your life." The man released a deep, hacking sort of laugh that was dreadful as it was comical.

"How irresponsible for that detestable hag of a duchess to send her only son, still so young, to commit espionage in the King's land." Maliciously fake concern was plastered across his wide face. "Allow me to return the offer: Tell me your business or you'll be hanging from the gallows."

"I'm a runaway, a vagabond. My home is no home to me. I want to see the far places and everything in between. Here I stand, in the heart of the Mediterranean, my dreams defied by stone and steel."

"Supposing you speak truly, there will still be no safe place for members of noble houses outside their realms, especially ones so despised as yours. Many would want nothing more than to see a Breton suffer and perish, regardless of whether they are guilty of any crime. One soul for the thousands claimed over the last two centuries." A long pause followed before he continued.

"Fortunately for you, I do not wish to bring harm upon vassals of the English crown, lest our nations be brought to war because of it. I shall allow you to live, for the expressed purpose of letting your kind know that as long as our people lies in fetters, they will never be welcome on these shores." Under those terms he was released and shipped to Brest in the brig of a merchant's ship.