“What is humorous, Ivona?”
“Your somber demeanor, Lorenzo; I have heard stories of your zeal, but I see only a pious man.”
“For you, I am pious; for freedom, I am zealous.”
The maiden’s laugh died down to a mere smile, and that gave way to a sigh. “Perhaps you are right. I will submit.”
She left him on the belfry and returned to the lower parts of the church, crossing the sanctuary when she heard a group of monks reading from the scriptures. She was literate in Latin, and crept to the door to listen:
“Do not think that I came to bring peace on earth; for I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. I came to set a son against his father. He who loves his father more than me is not worthy of me; and he who does not take his cross and follow after me is not worthy of me.”
The words grabbed her heart and ran her through. She fell back in fear, raising her face to the ceiling. “My God, my God, why have I forsaken you?”
In a flurry, she fled the church, taking a monk’s frock as she went and disguising herself. She took a bow and quiver of arrows from the sentry tower, along with a short sword that fit into her belt. Then she left the village and the castle, and all she had known since birth, setting aside worldly peace for a still conscience. She sought her fate in the inhuman forest – such was her love – and as she slipped through the gates into the darkness, an owl’s cry pierced through the gloom and through her heart. She was alone, it cried, but she did not turn her ears to listen. Instead, she set off to the forest, not afraid of that which would ruin the courage of any man. For she was no man, and her heart was a strong fortress: when the gates were open all could enter; yet when they were closed neither man nor nature could break through, neither love nor fear.
Chapter 14
After parting from the others, Alfonzo, Vahan Lee, and Casper crossed the stream and headed south through the great forest. Their destination was a small hideout in which the rangers stored secret documents. It was these documents for which Alfonzo searched.
The trees in all parts of the forest were massive and tall, standing at least twenty feet apart, and it was no different in the southern area where they were headed. There were few bushes on the ground, and still fewer saplings. The trees of the forest seemed to live forever, invigorated by the climate of Atilta, so much purer than its neighbors: Hibernia to the north and France to the east. It was a place of refuge amidst the turmoils of the times. The legends of the people made it the brother of Atlantis and Eden, with their paradisaic island climates. Some, however, were greatly disturbed by this analogy.
Through the first hour of the walk the three travelers were silent. Alfonzo was thinking of many things, among them the suspicions he had about Vahan Lee. That worthy gentleman, Lee, was wholly occupied by thoughts of his failure to conceal his mission.
“By folly’s face,” he said to himself, “I should guard my tongue better, but no! When I want to keep something secret I seem to shout it from the rooftops.”
Casper was no less lost in thought than his companions. He knew why he was singled out to go with Alfonzo, and he had an idea as to what was to happen. But he could not make up his mind, so he did nothing.
When they had walked a good distance, Alfonzo called out to him, “Casper, go forward and watch for an ambush, we will follow behind.”
“Yes, master,” and with that Casper went forward, out of hearing of Vahan and Alfonzo.
“We are alone, Vahan Lee. You can now tell me of the secrets which you seem to enjoy spewing forth.”
The gentleman apparently thought better than that, and decided not to reveal himself just yet.
“I do not understand your drift. I am a loyal Atiltian, and I have no secrets,” he said
“You have changed your mind once more, have you?” questioned Alfonzo, “I do not understand why you keep pulling back, unless you serve the French monarch.”
“How can you think that, Alfonzo, after what has befallen us?”
“What has befallen us, Vahan? You escaped from my prison and defended yourself from another group of bandits. Perhaps I should recapture you?”
“I did nothing in the beginning and I am doing nothing now.”
“Nothing, and that is the problem. You have no answers to the questions that I ask. I am the master here, Vahan Lee, and if you wish to be free then let me know your identity.”
“What questions would you ask then? I am a simple-hearted man, and loyal to my country. It is for my accusers to prove otherwise,” said Vahan.
“I do not accuse you of being disloyal to your country, I merely ask if your country is Atilta or France?”
“France!” cried Vahan, forgetting himself. Then he recovered by adding in a half-hearted attempt at deception, “Is not my country.” He smiled weakly at Alfonzo.
“Tell me all, Vahan Lee. If I desired you dead would you now be alive? Your secrets are safer with me than yourself, and I dare say, if I guess them right, so are your plans.”
“My plans, the loyal Atiltian that I am, are for the benefit of this land, and I will reveal them to whom I choose. You cannot coerce me.”
“Yes, of course. I know you are right in this. I must apologize, for I grow boisterous whenever I think of my native land in the trouble that it is. If only we had allies with a monarch on the continent, then we would be secure from that side and our troubles half over. Have you heard rumors of any kings thinking of supporting us against Gylain?”
This subtle tactic of Alfonzo’s was more than Vahan Lee could bear, and he stood almost bursting out of his seams during Alfonzo’s little dialog. The gentleman’s face turned red and his eyeballs half popped out: so great was his excitement, and the anticipation he had about revealing his long – and badly kept – secrets.
“You have earned my trust, Alfonzo of Melborough, so I will confide in you – strictly confidentially, of course.”
“Of course,” was the answer.
“You know me as Vahan Lee, but that name is merely a fake, to allow me to go incognito. I am rightly known as Thomas Vahanlee. You may have noticed that I have a slight French accent.”
“Yes, a slight accent,” though he had a very heavy one.
“And that my attire is partly French.”
“Is it? I did not notice,” though he stunk of French nobility.
“That is because I am indeed French, though obviously very loyal to the people of Atilta. One need not be native to be patriotic.”
“Oftentimes foreigners are the most vocal in praise of a country.”
“True, but to continue: I am a noble gentleman in my country France, the king’s chief, the hands behind the government, so to say. It was he that sent me on this secret mission to ascertain the character of the rebels in the forests. No one else could be trusted to be loyal to both France and Atilta, and to be discreet about being so.”
“Discreet it is,” Alfonzo chuckled.
“Let me tell you, friend, though they are not very visible, I, too, have my faults.”
Alfonzo gasped in feigned amazement.
“Yes, I too, Thomas Vahanlee of France, have my faults, as imperceptible as they may be. But to continue.”
“Please do.”
“His Majesty the King of France wishes to explore the possibility of assisting the rebellion against the tyrant Gylain, and he has asked me to find a noble man with whom he can communicate without fear of betrayal.”
“May I suggest Lord Milada of Erlich.”
“I was thinking you.”
“Oh, indeed? You must know that I am not a leader, for I am not noble born, at least not in the Atiltian nobility. I have no property except the hearts of men.”
“Yet what is worth more than the very images of God?”
“Nothing, though it is a sin to worship his images.”
“True. But I am still of the opinion that you would be a better contact than a nobleman. You are free from suspicion, or at least free from the eyes of the enemy. Y
ou are safely in the forest with your own men. And you have the means to easily communicate with all of the country.”
“You have convinced me. Tell your king that his help is welcome, but his rule is not.”
“His only purpose is to restore the royal family of Plantagenet to the throne. His brother was the king, you will remember, and his death struck him hard.”
“But where does he intend to find an heir to the slain monarch?”
“The rumor in France is that the boy survived, and His Majesty feels the presence of a strong king rising from the oppressed forest lands.”
“Feelings are deceptive, though I admit to the same. There is someone whom my eye has rested upon of late, and now I go to look into it more closely. Directly after the Revolt of the Lion’s Mane, I wrote an account of what took place, that I would not forget the details should I need them. Now I am in such a need, for if things are as I remember them, our chances have improved.”
“Of whom do you speak?”
“Willard.”
“A strange man to say the least: mysterious and cunning.”
“We will see soon enough, for we have reached the hideout where the records are stored.”
They had come to a rather large oak tree with a trunk that broke into three sections ten feet from the ground. The whole trunk itself was no less than forty-five feet around. Alfonzo and Vahan Lee stopped at the trunk, and the former dropped to his knees, throwing himself into a vigorous search for the hidden area. They called it a hideout, but it was more a secret compartment, for their shelter was twenty yards to the east. After a moment, he stopped and lifted a dirt-covered panel from the ground. A locked chest sat beneath it.
“Help me pull this out, Vahan,” and the two men brought it out of the hole.
Alfonzo took a key from inside his shirt and opened the chest. From the inside he took a piece of folded paper. Then he stood and concealed the chest once more, so that, in the case of an ambush, the bulk of the papers would not be lost. Such was the way of the forest.
“Where is Casper?” he asked Vahan.
“He crept off into the forest while you were digging,” was the answer.
Alfonzo took a long look in each direction, then returned to the paper he held in his hands.
“I will read this aloud to you, Vahan, that you may know a little more of the history of our struggle, and that you may judge Willard’s identity, for the opinion of but one man is worthless.”
“Often the opinions of many are no different. But read it, and we will see what we will hear.”
“What?”
“Never mind,just read it.”
“Very well,” and with that, Alfonzo began to read what he had recorded roughly fifteen years before:
I, Alfonzo of Melborough, record this on mid-summers night of what was the twenty-first year of the reign of our beloved King Plantagenet. Not more than three days ago the Revolt of the Lion’s Mane was affected successfully, however, and the king is no more. The royal family was destroyed: the king and queen murdered, the prince chased into the heart of the forest by followers of Nicholas Montague.
It happened on the night of a banquet, held for the Queen of Saxony. She was living in Eden when she came to power, and her realm was saved by the military intervention of the king. If that were not enough to endear him to her, she was married to William Stuart, the king’s beloved Admiral. Yet even that was not enough to appease her thirst for power.
It was cloudy and dark, with a strong, biting wind from the south. The king thought himself safe, for Gylain’s plot had been discovered, and he was placed in the city dungeon. Such was the fairness of the king, that he placed Gylain in custody with the full rights of a citizen. But the latter did not share his respect, and was freed by his own men, who had long ago infiltrated the dungeon guards. The queen’s entourage was replaced with followers of Gylain, armed and ready to commit their murders. The king trusted her. Yet she was Gylain’s lover, and lovers cannot be trusted.
I looked on, from above, when the toast was raised, and the king, in good faith, was merry and at ease. He stood and threw back the wine before him, pledging his trust for the Queen of Saxony. Yet before the cup had been drunk, he was forced to drink another. Gylain and his men leapt forward, throwing off their disguises and attacking ruthlessly with their knives and daggers. The king and queen were slain.
This tragedy took place in the great hall of Castle Plantagenet, in the center of the city Eden. The hall rises through several floors of castle, the bottom being the dining room, and the top an open space, with no floor at all, merely an empty space wherein chandeliers are hung. Around that room, on the second floor, there is a hallway that has windows opening into the Great Hall. I was passing along this hallway with Prince Willarinus, to give him a glimpse of his parents before he went to bed.
I was his tutor, as well as his friend, for though he was a youth, his innate wisdom was remarkable, as if fate bred him for some special mission. As we passed one of the windows, we stopped to look. But what we saw horrified us: Gylain was disguised as the Queen of Saxony’s lady-in-waiting, and when the toast was raised, he threw aside the veil and killed the king with a foul stroke from his knife. One of his followers likewise dispatched the queen. Then a fight began between Blaine Griffith, captain of the guards, and the followers of Gylain. The forces of the king were outnumbered, but I did not stay to assist them. For I had other duties.
I took my liege, the prince, and rushed to the secret passage that connects the dungeon with the forest outside the walls of the city. There was no time to arm or supply ourselves as we ran, but my sword was at my side from habit, and Willarinus grabbed the royal sword from the hallway as we fled, though it was as long as himself. The passage to the outside was in the wall of the deepest dungeon, hidden behind a statue. The two of us were able to reach it in safety and flee to the forest.
Yet we were seen by Nicholas Montague as we ran from the apartments of the royal family to the dungeon in the under-tower. He left the fight in the great hall and chased after us. When he could not find the hidden passage, he took some men and went to the clearing in the forest where it ends. Apparently the conspirators had been able to ascertain its general location.
Along his way, Nicholas Montague came across a group of servants and ladies-in-waiting from the castle, who had fled when the violence began. Among them was Celestine, my wife, who did not know the intentions of the queen. Somehow the Queen of Saxony came to hate her with the same zeal with which she had once loved her. It was as if madness compelled the queen to hate all she once held dear.
The passage was narrow and cramped, turning many times along the way as it passed under the narrow city streets. We moved slowly because of this, thinking we had escaped danger. Nicholas Montague reached the forest before us, therefore, but his attention was turned to the party from the castle when we exited the tunnel. He did not see where it came out. But once we were in the clearing, Montague came face to face with me. The hour was late, and the moon was obscured by the ominous sky. Everything was dark, except for what was lit by a single lantern which the servants had brought with them.
Montague drew his sword and lunged forward at me. I was only able to deflect his blow by stepping to the right and letting him pass by me. I brought a hard blow down upon him as he was left undefended, and for a moment he was disabled. While these things took place, however, one of his men ran after my wife, and another after the prince. By some desperate action, I may have saved one, but I hesitated. I was torn between them and both were lost. On one side was my love, to whom my soul is devoted, and on the other was the prince, the only heir to the throne, the only hope for Atilta. I could not decide, so fate decided for me. If only there were another cure for indecision!
A dozen men came from the direction of the castle, aiding those who had control over Celestine and her companions. Willarinus, at the same time, eluded the grasp of the men who held him and fled into the forest. Seeing that Celestin
e was beyond my help, I abandoned her and followed Willarinus. But before I could overtake him, Nicholas – the elder Montague – engaged me in combat. It was not possible for me to flee.
Our melee was fierce, but at last I overcame him and was able to escape alive from his men, albeit badly wounded. I chased after the prince. Yet I could find no trace of him anywhere in the forest nearby. As for the men who had followed him, I found their lifeless bodies a short way from the clearing. My first thought was that the prince had killed them with the sword he wielded. Upon closer inspection, however, I found the traitors had been killed by a bear, with claw marks at their necks. I looked to the ground for prints that might explain what had happened, and at length I found the prince’s feet fleeing into the forest. Beyond where the bodies of the men rested, he was followed no more. Yet something strange appeared twenty feet to the left of his tracks: the prints of a full grown black bear. I followed them both for five miles, but they disappeared into a stream, and I could catch no trace of them again.
That was three days ago, and since then I have searched without ceasing, but with only vanity’s assistance. I am afraid for Willarinus; but, for now, it is only the forest that can save him. Whatever killed the men who followed him is now his only hope. As for myself, I will rest and then see to the situation in Eden. Time is short.
Farewell to whoever may pick this up. Signed, Alfonzo
The two men were silent after reading the letter. Vahan and Alfonzo were alone; Casper had gone off on some other task, and whether it was sinister or not did not matter to them. It seemed as if even the birds had stopped singing, and the wind had stopped blowing, such was the silence that prevailed. At length, Vahan spoke.
“I am ever loyal to Atilta, and to her royal family,” he said. “Can it be that Willard of the Forest is none other than Willarinus, the prince?”
“I believe so. The name, the background, the sword: it is solid and circumspect evidence.”
“Horatio the bear, could he have been protector?”
“No, for he isn’t more than five years old. But perhaps there is a link between them that made their friendship possible.”
The Forgotten King Page 9