The Forgotten King

by Jonathan Dunn

  Barrel shepherds would guide the barrels with long, wooden poles as they traveled down the river. This was commonplace, and no one wondered when a herd of barrels floated by, even after the fall of darkness.

  They stopped in front of the river, waiting for the drawbridge to lower. As they stood there, an old, stooped man herded two dozen barrels past them. Half of the barrels were floating heavily in the water – as if full – and the other half were floating lightly – as if empty. Ivona and Willard stood directly before the spot at which the drawbridge would reach the ground. Just as it came down, the old man stopped in front of them and his barrels came to a halt under the drawbridge.

  “If the duck quacks, don’t blame the chicken,” the old man said.

  Willard scowled at him and said, “Begone, old man. The queen cannot be bothered.”

  “I’m not a quack,” the old man winked, “And I reckon you are no chicken.”

  “Sure enough” Willard returned. Then he added, in a voice loud enough to be heard by the castle guards – and to cover any other sounds, “Begone there, poor old barrel shepherd.”

  “As you wish, master,” the old man muttered.

  As he did so, however, he turned his back to the castle and his face to Willard. With his pole, he banged three times on the drawbridge, under which his barrels were still floating.

  “Hurry up,” he said, and he quickly lifted the hood that covered his face. He winked at Willard.

  He was none other than Jack Clifford. Willard, however, did not seem to recognize him.

  “Begone, old fool,” he growled, “Or I will send you away forever.”

  This time, Clifford moved along, poking his staff under the drawbridge as he left, as if to loosen the barrels. It worked, for the barrels floated on, the same number as before. The only difference was their weight: now all of them floated lightly on the surface of the water. When Clifford was safely passed, they crossed the drawbridge in a hurry. On the other side they were greeted by Gylain and Nicholas Montague, who seemed to be taken by surprise at the queen’s early arrival.

  “What a pleasant surprise, madam,” and Gylain bowed to who he thought was the Queen of Saxony. “Come this way, for the feast is prepared!”

  He led them into the outer courtyard of the castle, within the safety of the walls, which were thought to be secure from the infiltration of the rebels. Behind them, the draw bridge was swiftly raised and locked, so that none could come in or go out.

  Yet there were a dozen dark figures on the underside of the drawbridge that the guards did not see. The darkness of the wood matched the darkness of their clothing and they were further obscured by the angle of the drawbridge. They held onto the wooden boards with small, metallic hooks, and when it reached the top, they jumped onto the parapets of the outer wall. Then they scurried into the shadows of the castle, where they became invisible, even in the light of the moon.

  Chapter 37

  After Montague left him to execute the prisoners, Gylain resumed pacing around his lofty chamber. Finally, despairing, he sat down at his writing desk. But the words of his proclamation still would not come, so he leaned back and sighed to himself.

  “At last, Cybele comes to visit me on this desolate isle. Her mother was both beautiful and powerful – an enchanting combination. But I should not give myself to such emotion. What irony it is, that the fate of my kingdom lies partially in the hands of a woman, the daughter of the man I hate, and the sister of the woman I have held prisoner for fifteen years. But she is a queen, and knows the ways of power. Without her mother’s help, I would not have overthrown the king. He trusted Casandra of Saxony, the wife of his old friend William Stuart. When I was caught in the midst of my treasons, they threw me into jail – not the secure dungeon, but the city jail. The king sought to save me from the mistreatment of the guards whom I had plotted against. What foolishness, what naivety! From the city jail I was easily rescued by those in my confidence, and when Queen Casandra arrived, the time was ready for the revolution. Men put altogether too much faith in women.”

  He arose and went to the window, where he stood and looked into its kaleidoscope patterns. “The coup did break her, though,” he muttered to himself, “It only weakened her spirit. After all those years of loving the Admiral, she turned on him viscously, and the shame broke her, made her fall into the foul hands of her conscience. It was her destiny, though, and how can you disagree with God’s plan? Admiral Stuart was always away on duty, doing this or that. She longed for his presence, but he never returned for more than a few weeks at a time, and then was gone for months. Love is a dangerous thing, and between it and hate there is little difference. They are two sides of the same thing; two in person, one in essence. Its passion to serve can quickly change into a passion to resist. Her love soured into hate, and she began to despise him and everything he represented. Together, we fell into treason and immorality.”

  Gylain put his hand into the air and imitated picking fruit from a tree. “We fell from Eden.”

  But then he pretended to throw it to the floor. “Yet she was not consistent in her hatred. Even in her passion she was never unfaithful to him. She never loved me the way I desired; she never completely forsook herself.”

  He walked closer to the stained-glass window and ran his hand over one of its intricate depictions.

  “At first, she was all I wanted,” he said, “Then I came to hate William myself. Yet I was eluded by them both. Celestine was so similar to her and so I loved her as well. But once more her faithfulness was too strong. Perhaps the younger daughter will love me as I desire.”

  He paused and began playing with his beard in a thoughtful manner.

  “Yet her love is not what drives me, nor her mother’s, nor the hatred of William. They were never the purpose but only the door; never the ends but only means. God cruelly uses us, his creation, who are unable to strike him back upon his divine cheek. The poor are swept away and have not the power to resist the dictates of his feudal fate. Who, then, can stand against him? Who can rise up and secure the freedoms of his fellow humans? It is I. The rebels oppose me, fighting for their earthly freedom, while I put our strengths together to fight our divine dictator. They are fools to hinder me.”

  He raised his head to the heavens and scowled.

  “God places authority in certain men, that they may oppress their fellows and thereby represent his own oppressions. He puts kings over countries not to keep the peace, but to break it. For God is not peace, but war. He is chaos and hatred, and authority is what he gives to those whom he would use to show his oppressions. In my youth, I was a foolish boy. I thought I could overthrow the king and with him God’s authority. I thought I could take the reigns of oppression in my own hands and bring them to a standstill. But look about me! I have myself become the vehicle of his evils. I cannot defeat him, for he uses me against myself!

  “So I pursue William, knowing him to be the manifestation of God’s judgment on me. If I cannot kill God, I can kill those he sends. And so I seduced Casandra, and so I will seduce Cybele. I care nothing for them and nothing against William. But as far as they are used by God, I will oppose them and bring them to destruction. Look at this, cruel dictator! Can you see what is happening, oh God, from your heavenly Hades? I will bring your judgment upon yourself. I will defeat your will by defeating those who carry it out – even if it means destroying myself. You have flooded before, and the deluge will come yet again; for you are, of all things, a liar. But let it come, I say. Let it come!”

  He was interrupted by a knocking on his door.

  “Enter,” he called out loudly, heated by his monologued prayer.

  Leggett, the captain of the castle guards, came in. He was of the average height, well-built, and had a short goatee. His dark hair was set back in a curly mass above his head.

  “My lord,” he bowed, “I have come, as you commanded.”

  Gylain looked at him blankly for a moment. Then, as if just remembering, said, “
Ah, of course. Come, sit down and speak with me.” He pointed Leggett to the chair beside the desk, and both of them sat down.

  “What I wanted to discuss with you, Leggett, was the security of the castle. You know that the Queen of Saxony is coming within the week. I want her to be welcomed graciously and securely. The feast is prepared and ready to be presented in a moment’s notice. But we have had rebel communications intercepted, speaking of an infiltration of some sort. We must be ready from now until the queen leaves. What is the situation?”

  “The only way into the castle is over the outer wall, or through the gate, and neither of those is vulnerable,” Leggett answered. “There are constant patrols along the parapets of the walls, two men to a patrol and three patrols at any minute circling the castle. The gate is guarded by twenty men. Once inside the courtyard, there are two troops of fifty men each stationed on either side, in garrisons where they will live until the queen is gone. From these they can be easily awoken to defense by the numerous sentries. The dungeon has few guards, to make up for the greater numbers elsewhere. But to reach it the rebels will have to get through the wall guards first. As for the castle itself, Nicholas Montague stands ready to command the outside garrison when the queen arrives. It is our plan to keep the guards on outside duty until the queen arrives, then move them onto the walls and the gates. The rest will be sent to the Great Hall. Is it well, my lord?”

  “Yes,” Gylain mumbled, his mind still troubled about the security, but realizing that nothing else could be done. If William Stuart was near, his anger would be boiling. Gylain knew him well from before his treason: the Admiral was one to put a facade of patience over his anger but to never lose the anger itself. His rage would grow until it could be used wisely. Gylain had used his wife to overthrow his friend and king, had seduced her, and was having his daughter and son-in-law executed. Furthermore, he allied himself with William’s youngest daughter, Cybele, the Queen of Saxony. Gylain was afraid of William, perhaps, but his fear seemed only to invigorate his hate and his power.

  “Sir?” Leggett asked as Gylain stared blankly into the space in front of him.

  “Hmm? Ah, yes. Good work, Leggett, I am not disappointed; you may go now.”

  “Yes, sir,” and with that, Leggett bowed and exited the room. “We will see how pleased he truly is,” Leggitt whispered as he left. “By all appearances, the castle is safe; but appearances can mean little. Let the rebels come, I say.”

  Just as he went, a courier came running into the room from the secret passage. It was Roberts, Gylain’s page. Gylain turned to him as he came in and said, with an almost parental tone, “What is it, Roberts?”

  “The queen, sir, she’s come – arrived I mean, just now.”

  “What? The Queen of Saxony here already? Fetch Montague from the dungeons and have him forgo the executions today. Perhaps he will get to them later. Be sure that he is presentable. Hurry, lad.”

  Roberts dashed off down the stairs to do his bidding and Gylain himself was not far behind. The stairway of the secret passage was only two feet wide and the incline was steep, for it traveled the same height as the outer stairway, but with a much smaller circumference. They went down about six hundred feet, finding at the bottom the small anteroom behind the throne. Gylain’s most striking feature was his countenance, for a man of his position and disposition would be thought to have a cruel face. But his was handsome and open – in appearance, an honorable, upright man – though he was troubled within about his purpose. Still, he did not stop to groom himself in the anteroom, but rushed through the Great Hall to the courtyard, stopping for only a moment to don the crown. He reached the drawbridge just as Nicholas Montague was arriving from the dungeon, whose door came out into the courtyard beside the castle.

  “Lower the drawbridge,” Gylain commanded the soldiers guarding it.

  “Yes, sir,” and the heavy wooden door began to lower.

  As it was doing so, Gylain turned to Montague and talked to him in a low voice that could not be overheard. “Remember, Nicholas, manners and nicety are the orders of the day. Do not talk of the rebels, the hunt for the Holy Graal, or the recent return of Admiral Stuart. Above all, do not mention the prisoners.”

  “Of course, my lord. Is it not I, the man of tact?” he laughed to himself in sarcasm. “When will my brother return?”

  “He is on a patrol with the harbor fleet, but I expect him back before the night is through.”

  By that time the drawbridge was lowered. There was a troop of twenty horsemen on the other side, waiting for an old barrel shepherd to pass by. In a moment he was gone and the horsemen came forward, led by a beautiful woman and a fiercesome man riding on an enormous black bear. They crossed the river, coming to a stop in front of Gylain and Montague. Both bowed.

  “A pleasant surprise, madam,” Gylain said as the Queen of Saxony approached. “Come this way: the feast is prepared!”

  He turned and led them through the massive gate and into the courtyard. A double-gate led into the castle, of which the second could not be opened unless the drawbridge was closed. Therefore, they stopped for a moment and surveyed the scene. All around the central tower that formed the castle was the courtyard. The entrance to the dungeon came out into the side of the courtyard, directly across from the clouded buildings. The castle tower was wider at its base than either its upper or lower sections, and the Great Hall was at the ground level, although its floor was raised ten feet from the ground outside. There was, accordingly, several large windows that began on the floor of the hall and reached a dozen feet above it. One of them came out directly above the dungeon door, ten feet from the ground. Fifty men were assembled in the courtyard. As she looked out upon their gleaming swords, Ivona began her first speech – written beforehand to set up their plans.

  “I am impressed by the display of your power, Gylain, for even in Saxony we do not have such impregnable castles and such timely soldiers.”

  It struck Gylain’s pride; he bowed low to show his gratitude.

  “I would only desire one more thing, if I could be so imposing,” she continued.

  “By all means, it would be my pleasure to fulfill your desires,” was the answer.

  Ivona gave him one of her lovely smiles and continued. “I have heard about your catapults, that they are superior to those of Europe. Would you display them for me, tonight?”

  “It will be done,” he bowed again. He turned to Leggett, who was behind him, and said, “Bring out the catapults and set them under that window,” he pointed to the large window near the dungeon door. “The queen can admire them as she eats.”

  “How many, my lord?” Leggett asked, though he knew already what he was to do.

  “All of them. There is room for twenty under the length of the windows, is there not?”

  “Yes, I should think so.”

  “Excellent. Will your men be joining the feast?” he asked the queen, giving the cloaked man who rode bear back a significant glance.

  “Yes, we are tired from the ride.”

  “Good, then let us go to the feast!”

  With that, Gylain led the horse troop toward the door of the Great Hall.

  Chapter 38

  Meanwhile, in the Devil’s Door, Blaine and his men were exiting the secret passage. First Blaine came out. Then, once they were sure the guards were not around, the rest of them exited. There were five men in all each carrying two swords: one for themselves and one for the prisoners. Blaine held a torch instead. The room was dark and damp and though it was now lit by the torch its shadows were still deeply etched upon the face of the wall.

  “Why do the men leave the passage, Blaine? Should we not leave the cell at once?” Alfonzo asked.

  “We cannot, unfortunately. There are large patrols around the tunnel’s exit.”

  “Yes, Nicholas Montague is back. He saw us come from it on that fateful night.”

  “It is too dangerous to risk. Even we, the forest dwellers, had a difficult time enterin
g the tunnel. To leave would be impossible, for you cannot know if the soldiers are near until you open the hidden door, and then they are upon you. Besides, the only reason the guards are away from here is that Ivona is impersonating the Queen of Saxony.”

  “Then it is not the queen herself?” Celestine asked quietly, though it was not possible to tell if it was from relief or disappointment.

  “No, only Milada’s daughter. Come, we must be on our way.”

  “Are there many guards above?” asked Alfonzo as he took a sword from one of the men.

  “We cannot be certain, but we counted a hundred earlier. They should all be in the Great Hall, now, our informants tell us. They feast with the queen.”

  “And if not?”

  “Then we fight.”

  “So we will,” Alfonzo murmured, “Follow me.”

  Blaine looked at him with wondering eyes.

  “I am well, Blaine. We both know this castle, but I know its soldiers better.”

  “I follow, sir. My only thought is for your health. Yet I see that you are well.”

  Lorenzo and Vahan Lee were already unchained, the former wielding his sword confidentially, the latter awkwardly. Celestine, also, had taken a blade and stood among the men.

  “Vahan and Celestine, take the rear,” Alfonzo ordered and it was done.

  Behind Alfonzo, the small company went up the stairway to the next cell. The cells in the dungeon were on top of each other, without a hallway or passage other than the spiral stairs that ran up the center. The doors that separated the cells were merely bars in a frame and thus could be seen through. They were always locked. Halfway up the dungeon one cell was converted to a guard room – the headquarters of the jailers – below which the desperate criminals were kept.