The Forgotten King

by Jonathan Dunn

  “I have lost,” he sighed. “I can crush him and kill him; I can burn his honor and feed its charred remains to the beasts of history. But still I have lost; I am defeated.”

  “Your strength forsakes you in your emotion. This is not the time to be forsaken.”

  “But what am I to do? For above all, I love her.”

  “De Casanova, you do not know what love is. If you did, you would see it to be emotion and thus to be disregarded. There are but two things in this world: strength and weakness. Anything else is only a way of viewing or denying them. Is God righteous? His strength makes him so. Is Satan evil? His weakness makes him so. Right and wrong, justice and injustice, liberty and oppression – these things are strength and weakness in a different dress. Love is emotion and emotion weakness. Therefore, flee from it before it steals your robe, lest you sleep with it.”

  “And you do not love Cybele, nor her mother, nor her sister?”

  “I do not,” and Gylain hesitated. “I hate,” he said at last, “And what love I have serves only to increase my hatred.”

  “And yet, as you say, it is weakness.”

  “It is, and I will defeat it. It will die with William Stuart.”

  “And you? Overconfidence is a vice,” the other returned. “To defeat the rebels will take more than we have given. The people—”

  “The people!” Gylain laughed. “They are horns to the bull and claws to the leopard, but they do not swing themselves. This democracy they flout is tyranny in a harlot’s dress; for it must have strength the same as any dictator, and something cannot be strong unless another thing is made weak in contrast. If democracy follows the will of the people, why is it needed? As far as it needs power to enforce its rule, it is not freedom; and if its rule is not enforced, it does nothing.”

  “What I was saying, my lord, is that the people would not care if we were deposed. So we should not care if they are destroyed: give and take.”

  “There you are wrong. We rule for power and receive our due. But without the people there would be no power to be had. We cannot take what they do not give. Therefore, we let them go their way.”

  “Emotion is to be feared in leaders, but cultivated in followers. And this is our disadvantage: our soldiers are trained beyond humanity, while theirs fight for self – albeit under the guise of woman and country. The emotions of self are a powerful ally in matters of justice.”

  “I doubt their emotion. Still, we will see, for I have the heart of William’s daughter as a security and it may have to be used. But will he hesitate when the time comes? He will not flinch.”He paused. “The end will come and he will not care.”

  “There are many ends.”

  “But this will be the end of Atilta, its final battle. I have seen it in my dreams, and what God has dictated no man can turn aside.”

  De Casanova replaced his eyes to the window and Gylain paced the floor.

  “The end is dictated, de Casanova, and our actions are without consequence. Evil is weakness, and strength righteousness. Thus God is the creator of evil, because it can exist only under his own strength. We are made only to fuel his pride: the contrast, the lone tree that stands against the sunset to give it depth . Evil is weakness and the inability to be like God, and it was God who made beings who had no chance of being like him. He made us evil.” Gylain groaned. “But I will have him yet; for the stronger we become the weaker he seems.”

  The air grew heavy. And it was not lightened by the appearance of Jonathan Montague, who at that moment entered the room. His countenance was drenched in sweat and sorrow, his eyes in despair.

  “I have seen my brother,” he said without waiting, “I have seen him just now.”

  Gylain leapt to action. “He has returned? Where is he and what news does he bring?”

  “No, he has not returned and I fear he never will. I have seen him in a vision,” and Montague’s voice was a rainstorm.

  “You have come to speak, so speak,” Gylain said.

  “He came to me as I washed, having just returned from patrol. I stood by the water bowl and he appeared as a ghost across the room.

  “‘Brother, put your finger into the water, and then upon my lips.’

  “‘Why only a finger, when you may have it all,’ and I picked up the bowl as if to bring it to him.

  “But he commanded me to stop, ‘Do this only for me, brother. Promise me you will do whatever I ask, lest you follow me where I have gone.’

  “‘Am I not your brother? When have you needed my promise?’

  “‘This is something more than I have asked before. I pray it will be the last I ever see or speak to you.’

  “‘You startle me, brother. What is it?’

  “‘Repent!’

  “‘Of what, my brother? Only ask and it is done.’

  “‘Repent!’

  “‘My brother, I have done no wrong. Tell me and it will be done.’

  “‘Repent!’

  “‘How can I answer you, but that I cannot repent of what I have not done.’

  “‘Repent! For you have forsaken the ways of God!’

  “‘I cannot! Do you not know me, what I have done?’

  “He said nothing, but screamed in agony, then disappeared. I came to you at once.”

  “And what will you do?” Gylain asked.

  Still shaken, Jonathan Montague answered, “I will wait for my brother’s return and ask him. It must have been a delusion.”

  “Those who do not have faith in their heart will not have faith in their eyes,” Gylain whispered.

  “I cannot hear you,” Montague said.

  But Gylain could not answer, for at that very moment a page stomped noisily into the room.

  “My lord, I have a message!” the young man said.

  “From whom,” and Gylain gave a solemn countenance.

  “Peter, the Captain of the Guards.”

  “I know who he is,” Gylain said. “But what is his message? Out with it.”

  “The queen of Saxony is not to be found.”

  “Very well, begone,” and the page hurried out of the room in fear, lest the three men send him on a dangerous mission. When he was gone, Gylain continued, “It is as I thought. Damn those patient fools.”

  “But what will we do?” and de Casanova regained his zeal in the presence of action. “Will we trust to fate, to see what course has been planned for us?”

  “You learn,” Gylain sighed at the jest. “We will see what is sent.”

  “Look!” Montague cried at that instant, “Look: a battle fleet is coming into the bay. Its rear extends beyond my view. They fly the colors of the Three Kingdoms.”

  “So it is!” Gylain laughed, “Lyndon has joined our banner, as has victory. By fate’s declaration, we sail today – for war and for revenge!”

  Chapter 76

  The King of France leaned against the window sill, his elbows bent and his arms folded. He wore a majestic cloak over his clothing and a simple golden crown on his head that named him the king. His hair was a twilight sun – gray and grasping – his face ruddy, his hands womanly, and his stature shapely, though in a manner that denotes an indulgent diet.

  The room was small and not as grand as others in the palace at Bordeaux, for it was the king’s private study on the second floor of the western wall. A secret passage connected it to his bedchamber. Since few servants but Vahan and his captain of the guards knew of its existence, he was not disturbed. Through the windows could be seen the streets; the passers-by could be observed in detail. Behind him – in the center of the room – stood a square table, at which Vahan Lee was looking over a pile of papers. The whole palace was in stone, but here it was covered again by maple boards and that by an ornate rug from Istanbul. In all, the study was made up with inviting – if expensive – furnishings.

  “What will it be?” the king asked gaily, and his tone was strangely carefree for an old king. “What will I have for dessert, blond or brunette? My tongue is cleared f
or action, yet I cannot decide. The day is pleasant, the sun radiant, the sky clear – and the mood is set for blond. But in the distance storms approach and the sky darkens – and the mood is set for brunette. With such decisions, I do not now how I manage to stay above it all,” and he sighed, though in a pleasant manner.

  “I should say there will be no dessert for your majesty tonight,” and Vahan’s voice ran out with a serious undertow, washing away the light-hearted mood. When in his position, Vahan was not unconscious of his power; and when he knew of it, he did not let it idly sit.

  “No dessert? But my health will suffer from such deprivations.”

  “I say only this, my lord: there is war ahead. And war is won by hungry men.”

  “Perhaps, since we make war, not love. But what trouble it is to be king! I am burdened with decisions and turmoil; without you I would simply dry up and be gone. If only I were someone else.” He sighed. “I sometimes wonder how a tailor makes love. His mind is clear from troubles and his time from burdensome tasks. He must have a good time of it!” He returned his eyes to the window. “I wish I were a tailor.”

  “But, my lord, tailors make love but once or twice a lifetime,” and Vahan did not look up from his business.

  “Truly? That is the strange, for were I in their position I would make it every day, with no responsibilities hanging over me to keep me dry. I wonder why they do not.”

  “Because they cannot afford it.”

  “Cannot afford it? I did not mean with the harlots, but with their wives! Truly Vahan, you have such odd ideas on these matters.” He laughed, “Cannot afford it!”

  “I insist they cannot,” Vahan grew warm, “For children are formed in the act, and children are expensive. The tailors are fined too heavily to raise children. Thus, they cannot make love. If they do, they must work harder to support them, and so have no more time for it.”

  “An abomination,” cried the king. “What scoundrel devised this love making fine? I will have it out with him, to be sure! The audacity!”

  “Your majesty, it has been since there were records.”

  “I should think not, my dear Vahan, for I have never before heard of it. To fine a tailor’s love making! That is too far, indeed, for a government’s arm to reach.”

  “It is not called the love making fine, sire, and it is not for merely tailors.”

  “For more than tailors? You mean, it is for all citizens? What a horrid idea! It is no wonder they seem always unhappy – for I would die myself if I could not release my passions. Let us repeal it: my conscience cannot bear taxing the only pleasure in this life.”

  “My lord, it has other benefits, which you have supported so strongly in the past.”

  “Have I? If so, it was not named the love making fine. What are these benefits, though I cannot see how they are worth their price in happiness.”

  “My lord, would there be so much dessert for you and the court if the tailors went untaxed in these matters?”

  “No, the wells would soon run dry. But still, I must not be selfish. What is this fine called, that I can repeal it.”

  “It is not so much the love making fine as it is the love making tax, for that is the effect of our taxes: on imports, on linens, and on grain.”

  “Now I understand,” and the king paused, still staring out the window. “I have reached a decision, Vahan.”

  “I am ready, your majesty. Will we repeal the love making tax?”

  “What? I have decided on my desserts, I meant – for I will have both blond and brunette, to celebrate our coming victory. As for the tax, my health is not what it once was.”

  There was a knock at the door, hurried and important.

  “Enter,” Vahan said, and he did not wait for the king’s approval.

  The door swung open and a soldier replaced it in the doorway. He was fully armed and armored, bearing a sealed letter in his hand. Vahan evidently knew him, for he beckoned him to come over, while the king continued looking after the passing women.

  “A message?” Vahan asked the soldier.

  “Yes, sir: from Captain De Seinaly. I have not stopped since I was given it yesterday evening.”

  “Well done, Horace, though I did not expect less. Your service will be remembered when the time is right. But for now, let me read the letter,” and Vahan took his penknife from the table and carefully opened the seal. It was written in a hasty, untidy script, with the ending words omitted, and the sentences incomplete. After he had read it to himself, Vahan read it aloud, “Your Majesty, the fleet sails from the Three Kingdoms. We send word immediately. There is nothing to spare. They sail at ten knots.”

  The king sighed deeply, “Then I will have no dessert.”

  The soldier was surprised, “My lord, why should you have less than the soldiers? For we bring our dessert with us when we sail.”

  “Genius!” cried the king, “I had not thought of it, but it will do nicely!”

  “If we have time,” and Vahan sighed, though in a different manner than the king. “We are needed at the fortress at once.” The fortress was a military compound two miles beyond the city walls, along an inlet.

  “Yes, you are right,” the king moaned. “And we had best leave now, as there is much to be done if we are to reach Atilta in time. But wait – we cannot have more than two days, and that beginning yesterday,” and the king hung his head.

  The three men – Vahanlee, the king, and Horace – took the hall to the king’s coach, and set off at a quick trot through the streets toward the city’s end. On the way, the carriage passed through the crowded, narrow streets of Bordeaux, jostling those inside. Horace sat on the left and Vahan Lee on the right, both of the rear seat, and the king occupied the front seat by himself, making a positive or negative sigh in relation to each of the ladies they passed. Several minutes were spent gaining the highway, which ran straight through the city and was kept well-tended by the merchants’ guilds. No one walked along the highway, and the king, thus deprived of his attentions, turned to Vahan and began to speak.

  “How much of the army is ready to depart?” he asked.

  “Fifteen thousand,” was the answer.

  “And they are aboard?”

  “On two hundred ships.”

  “The whole fleet,” and the king paused. “But let us hope it is enough against our combined enemies. You say de Casanova attacked you?”

  “There was an ambush and a melee, but I cannot say who planned it. Patrick McConnell was taken by de Casanova, and de Casanova by us.”

  “The King of Atilta will be returning to Bordeaux soon, I should think, if they went to the Cervennes Mountains.”

  “They should, or else they will miss the final fight. But they are beyond my gaze.”

  “About that we will see, anyway. Captain Khalid took a battalion after Nicholas Montague. They cannot be far, either.”

  “I hope to hear word any hour.”

  “So I thought, for there is the equipage of the battalion, lined between the fortress and their ship. The crowd overflows the courtyard, in excitement,” and the king pointed to the fortress before them.

  “So they are!” cried Vahan. “And what could it be, than that they have Montague and execute him without a trial, as I ordered. For I know the guiles of Montague.”

  “Wisely done,” the king said, and he poked his head out the window, calling to the driver, “You there, hurry!” Their speed increased to a gallop.

  The fortress was circular, ten thousand feet in diameter, and formed into ten buildings – each of which was entirely self-contained. A courtyard filled much of the center. The only entrances to the individual buildings were stationed behind a moat that circled the interior. Only a narrow, underground passage led to the courtyard, with a dozen gates along its length and murder holes throughout. The buildings themselves had hundred foot walls on the outside, wherein no way was made to enter. And below the whole of the fortress was the King’s Keep, buried deep beneath the ground in a sy
stem of caves.At this time, the baggage of a full battalion was spread between the port and the fortress and was slowly being brought through the entrance tunnel. A large crowd of soldiers was standing around, hanging out of the courtyard with an air of the unusual.

  The carriage approached the tunnel gates and began to slow. But Vahan, struck by some strange feeling of urgency, stuck his out the window and demanded the guards clear the path for the king. They recognized the powerful minister of state and the tunnel was cleared at once. On the smooth stone, the horses could only stop from falling by pushing forward at full speed and the tunnel passed like a dreamless night. The soldiers in the courtyard were strewn aside from its path. The carriage only came to a stop at the very foot of the gallows, on which stood seven persons on the very verge of being hung. When Vahan saw who they were, he leapt through the window – shattering the glass – and tumbled onto the stairs that led to the raised platform. As he hit the ground, the hangmen opened the trap doors the seven stood upon.

  “Stop!” Vahan cried in desperation, “Stop: that is not Nicholas Montague!”

  Chapter 77

  “We part in friendship and brotherhood,” Zeus told Willard at the edge of the cavern. “But I warn you never to return! It is nothing personal, of course, but we must spend our days in peaceful isolation, lest the gods revoke our pardon. So here we part, for all and ever.” The old king-over-the-mountain bowed low before Willard, then turned and disappeared into the darkness.

  Willard and his companions stood silent for a moment, unable to break themselves from the spell of the mountain. Then – with a single, united action – they returned to the world in which strife reigned, and their impatience to return was reborn.

  “We must hurry,” Patrick said, “Come, Lydia, it will pass soon enough.”

  “Will it?” she asked sweetly.

  “Yes, but if it does not, we must drink it. It is our cup to bear.”

  “We will be thirsty, indeed, if we do not bind speed to our feet,” de Garcia said. “So let us run, if we can. Our wagon has been taken, no doubt, but we can take another in its stead.”

  “The peasants can suffer the loss of a wagon,” Leggitt agreed, “Against the loss of a people.”