by Brian Bakos
“Come now, Clyde,” I take the scroll. “Surely you cannot think that I would hold this against you.”
I open the scroll and read aloud:
To Prince Rupert of Sopronia,
Congratulations on a battle well fought. You have done everything that honor requires, and further resistance can only bring death to you and your followers. My envoy will return shortly to present surrender terms.
Afflis, Lord of the Eastlands
Norman grunts. “He’s become quite the nobleman now.”
“What do you make of this, Captain?” I say.
“I think Afflis wants to dispose of us quickly,” Talbot says. “We’ve already hurt him more than he expected.”
The horseman returns with his white flag. He halts a short distance from the stockade, an insolent little smile playing about his lips.
“Say your piece, envoy!” I say. “You have two minutes.”
The little smile disappears. He quickly produces a scroll and began reading:
I, Lord Afflis, call upon Prince Rupert to cease this war. Spare your followers from certain destructions. Withdraw your claim to lands not rightfully yours. I offer you safe passage back to Sopronia as soon as peace is concluded with King Bertram.
The envoy looks up from his scroll and addresses our soldiers directly:
“Men of the Eastlands! Come over to my Lord Afflis. Join him in building a new country, free of foreigners. Lay down your arms! Avoid the slaughter which otherwise awaits you.”
Absolute silence. Even the sea gulls have stopped their usual racket. The men stand at their posts, eyes downcast.
“Your time is up, Envoy,” I say.
“What answer shall I give my master?”
“Tell him he’ll have my answer at first light tomorrow,” I say. “If we are attacked before then, there will be no further parley.”
“But – ”
“Archers!” I call.
A dozen men draw their bow strings. The envoy spins his horse around so fast that he nearly falls off. He gallops away amidst raucous laughter.
Part Five: Victory or Death
46: Desperate Plans
Later that afternoon, the war council meets in my quarters. Clyde has joined our number now.
I press a hard question upon my army commander: “Can we hold out another couple of days until the Sopronian army gets here?”
Talbot shakes his head and replies in his customary blunt fashion.
“No, Your Lordship, we cannot.”
His words are a heavy stone on my heart. Of course, I already knew the truth, but hearing it from Talbot magnifies its terrible impact.
“We are too overmatched,” Norman says. “Afflis can take us with one more assault – though we’ll make him pay dearly.”
“He could also set fire to his part of the town and burn us out,” Petra says. “Or he could build rafts and try to outflank us from the sea.”
“I think not,” Talbot says. “Why destroy the storehouses with their valuable wares? He must provide his fighters with loot or court rebellion.”
“And rafts would take too much time,” Norman says. “He’ll seek to overwhelm us quickly with a frontal attack.”
These words hang heavy in the resulting silence. Finally, I speak.
“If we did surrender, would Afflis really spare the men?”
“Don’t even think that!” Clyde says.
“Just answer the question, please, Captain,” I say.
“Yes, he just might.” Talbot strokes his chin thoughtfully. “He needs manpower, why not get it from us? And our troops have proved their mettle.”
“He wouldn’t spare you nor me, Talbot,” Norman says. “We’d be butchered like pigs. And the ‘safe passage’ he offered Your Lordship would be a difficult journey, indeed.”
Talbot nods, sorrow glistening in his eyes. “For myself, I am not concerned, but ...”
The full, rancid horror of our situation presses down on me like a mountain of cattle manure. I sink back in my chair, already feeling cold steel at my throat. Moments of grim silence drag past before Talbot speaks again.
“In my opinion, Afflis might spare Your Lordship,” he says. “But to survive, you would have to become a traitor to your people.”
Wild hope surges in my heart. Maybe there is a way out for me after all! Too bad about the others, but like Talbot said, this is war. People get hurt no matter how noble you try to be. And nobody can say that I haven’t given my best effort, can they?
But I manage to push aside such unworthy sentiment.
“Never!” I say.
I close my eyes and stroke throbbing temples with my fingers. I have to think!
What was this talk about fires and rafts? Vague ideas start hovering at the edge of my consciousness the way the Pit-Eyed Thing once hovered outside my window at the castle.
Hobbs and some other soldiers appear at the door.
“What are you doing here?” Talbot barks. “Back to your posts!”
“We ask a word with the Prince, sir,” Hobbs says.
I look up toward the intruders. I am tired ... tired.
“Of course,” I say, “please speak your mind.”
Hobbs bows with great dignity.
“Highness, we have agreed amongst ourselves, all the men.” He looks to the others who give him firm nods of assent. “We want no part of a surrender. We’ll fight for you – to the end.”
They turn and walk off, leaving us all stunned.
“Well, the decision seems to be made for us,” Talbot says.
The headache crushing my skull suddenly vanishes. I jump up and rush outside to the middle of the square. Clyde follows close behind.
I hail the men on the stockade. “Soldiers of the Crown!”
Every face turns toward me.
“Your loyalty and courage will remain unmatched forever,” I yell. “Generations yet unborn will salute you!”
“Long live Prince Rupert!” the men cheer.
“Ah, such fine words, Your Lordship,” Clyde says. “Worth the journey just to hear them.”
I spin towards him.
“The game’s not over yet, Clyde. One more play is yet open to us.”
My plan is taking solid form, and I need to get it outside my head quickly. I rush back into my quarters.
“The storehouses contain many casks, right, Petra?” I say.
“Why, yes,” Petra says. “Your Lordship desires to sample the whisky again?”
I wave my hands excitedly.
“No, no. I have an idea. Hear me ...”
47: Rest for the Wicked
Mulgar drained the wine goblet and placed it on the table. The stink of his vast bulk filled the tent, and Afflis wrinkled his nose.
“You’re sure you can delay King Bertram another two days?” Afflis said.
“Aye, my lord,” Mulgar replied. “If he didn’t have some of our best men within his ranks, I could hold him off longer.”
Afflis felt hemmed in by Mulgar’s rank presence. Such a vile brute! Why were the best men always on the other side?
“Two days are enough,” Afflis said. “You will be well rewarded.”
Mulgar grinned. “Might these rewards include Talbot – should he survive the battle? I got special plans for him.”
“He’s yours,” Afflis said.
“Thanks, my lord.”
Mulgar stood up.
“I’d best be returning to my command.”
“Very well, you’re dismissed,” Afflis said.
Mulgar departed, taking his stench with him. Afflis felt suddenly tired, and he stretched himself out on his cot.
Things had gone well today, despite the heavy losses. He’d secured a section of the town but had launched no further attacks – as the Prince had demanded.
That insolent boy, making demands as if he was the victor!
In any case, Afflis dared not push his exhausted troops any further that day. Men pushed t
oo hard are apt to mutiny. Tomorrow morning would be soon enough to finish off his pesky foes, should they refuse to surrender. And they would not surrender, Afflis was certain.
Foreigners! What right have they to interfere?
Only he, Lord Afflis, could unite these lands and stop the constant fighting among the rival chieftains. He would become the Eastlands’ first true monarch. And he would be great – even if he’d never be loved as the Prince was. Then, after King Bertram’s army was defeated, Afflis would conquer Sopronia as well.
Such noble plans, and to have them threatened by a mere lad!
But Afflis knew there was far more to the Prince than met the eye. The prim exterior concealed an icy will. He was a cunning fox and slippery as a poisonous eel. Worse yet, the traitor Talbot was assisting him. God help Afflis should such a formidable opponent survive to manhood!
Despite himself, Afflis respected his young enemy. He’d even considered making Rupert his successor, but knew in his heart that the boy would never accept.
How had that ox of a King Bertram merited such a worthy heir while he, Afflis, had no one to come after him?
“Imagine,” he said aloud. “I offered Talbot the kingdom and he threw it back in my face!”
He rose and looked out the tent flap. His weary troops barely stirred in their camp, and those garrisoning the town were equally quiet. Night was setting in, with clouds hiding the sliver of moon. A light wind blew, and fog settled over the bay where the pirate ships completed the noose around the enemy.
The pirate envoy had demanded steep payment for the damage done to their port. Well, that would be settled later ...
After the downfall of the Prince.
48: Nightmare Swim
The water is surprisingly warm, unlike the chill night air. I wade back toward shore with salt water squishing inside my boots. I pull them off and tie them to the raft alongside my sword.
Out in the bay, the pirate vessels lurk amid darkness and fog. Except for their single deck lanterns, the ships are merely blacker forms in the surrounding ink. Men gather around us with their crude rafts made from empty barrels, inflated goat skins, and other buoyant objects.
“A fine evening for a swim, ain’t it, Highness?” Clyde says.
“Indeed,” I say, unable to match Clyde’s upbeat mood.
Why not admit my true feelings? I am scared and worried. My plan, which seemed so clever in the daylight, now appears to be absolute folly.
Talbot looms up out of the blackness.
“My force is leaving now for the north ship,” he says. “You’ll stick close to Norman’s men and wait til they secure the vessel before you board, right?”
“Yes, Captain,” I say.
“Good luck then, Your Lordship.”
I grip Talbot’s hand in both of mine. Will I ever be able to do this again?
“Thanks,” I say, “and may every good fortune accompany you, as well.”
Talbot addresses the others: “Remember, men, wait for the shore signal. Everything depends on surprise.”
He moves off. I feel terribly alone, despite the troops gathered all around me.
Fear reaches tingly fingers up my spine. We are on an absurd mission. How can we possibly float right under the pirates’ noses and seize their ships? Why, we’ll be spotted half way out and blown to smithereens by cannon fire!
But what else can we do – wait around for Afflis to slaughter us?
When I first proposed the attack, all save Clyde were highly doubtful. But then Petra weighed in with a bang of his fist on the table.
“By heaven,” he said, “if I must die, I’d much prefer it be on the water than in this cursed town!”
This was hardly a ringing endorsement, but Talbot organized the assault and the men obeyed, as ever. Their loyalty is frightening.
“Tell me the truth, Clyde,” I say, “can we succeed?”
“Don’t fret yourself, my lord. Them pirates will not expect such a bold stroke.” Clyde thumps his chest. “Under my shirt is our flag – wrapped safe in oilskin. We’ll fly it from the main mast before this is over.”
Norman approaches.
“Are you ready, my lord?” he asks.
I take a final look at the darkened town.
“Yes, Lieutenant,” I say, “let’s go.”
I wade out with Clyde. Between us we pull a small raft made of blown-up goat skins. Behind comes the muffled splashing of seventy men. The rocky bottom drops away and I feel a moment of panic as my head bobs underwater. Holding tightly to our float, I kick hard and stroke with my free arm.
We move out into an eerie reality, using the southernmost ship’s lantern as a beacon. A steady breeze pushes us along, and dirty clouds scud by, blotting out the moon.
Until now, I’ve never been in water above my head, and that in sparkling Lake Hevesh. But this swim is a journey through some nightmare. Far off, a savage bird voice shrieks as some night fowl swoops down on its victim.
The bulk of the pirate ship draws closer.
After some minutes of kicking our raft along, we enter an area of thickening fog and I can no longer see Clyde’s form across from me. Steam covers the water three feet thick.
“Perfect,” Clyde whispers. “They won’t see us til we’re right atop ‘em.”
I can see nothing of the attack force, hear nothing besides the low moan of the breeze. All is a misty blur. Only the deck lantern on the pirate ship stands out dimly. That corpse light beckons to us, growing constantly larger. My brain slows down as the water begins to numb my body.
***
Suddenly, the pirate ship looms up above the fog – only a short distance away! It floats huge and menacing, silhouetted by stars, like some monster from the depths.
I stifle a cry.
Things are happening much too fast! We have underestimated the breeze, and the wind is getting stronger, too. It’s starting to break up the fog.
We drift past the ship, kicking to avoid being blown off into the bay’s far reaches. Our raft bucks in the strengthening waves. The ship blocks the wind somewhat, aiding our efforts.
I feel terribly exposed, like a clam torn from its shell. I imagine a cannon aimed right at my head. The water becomes rougher, and a wavelet splashes into my mouth. I struggle to breathe.
Finally I choke the water out, just in time for another wavelet to enter my mouth. I pull myself higher onto the skins, leaving just my legs dangling in the water. Chill wind bites into me.
For what seems like hours we wait. More fog cover blows off.
The ragged clouds begin to disperse. Starlight pours out of the sky like gleaming diamonds. The sliver of moon pokes through, sending a ghostly band of light across the water. The sight enraptures me. I want to let go the raft and drift – right out of the bay and up into the heavens along the moonbeams.
Clyde’s grip on my arm brings me back to reality.
“Look!”
I can see the entire attack force bunched together in the water, like fish in a barrel waiting to be speared. My breath stops cold.
A tremendous explosion rips the night. I clench my eyes shut, awaiting the cannon ball.
49: Boarding Party
It is not cannon fire, though. The din comes from shore where a huge fire ball has burst into the sky. The signal at last!
But it is far more spectacular than we expected. The ship is brutally outlined as if by a rising sun. A din of confused voices and stomping feet drifts across the water from it.
Our flotilla closes in. The first wave swims to the ship and climbs the hull grasping any available handhold. Other men stand on the larger rafts preparing to throw grappling hooks or hurl missiles.
Determined to follow Talbot’s advice this time, I try to remain aloof. But some horrid fish has other ideas. I feel a thump, then the harsh scrape of a massive body sliding along my legs.
“Ugh!”
I fling myself onto the raft.
“What’s wrong?�
� Clyde asks.
What’s wrong emerges from the water – a blunt snout and an under slung mouth filled with hooked teeth.
“Shark!”
Clyde instantly joins me. We totter atop the goatskins, in danger of falling off any moment. A huge black eye slides past, lifeless except for the reflected flames – like the entryway to hell. I grope for my sword, but the beast swims out of range.
Several frantic strokes bring us alongside the ship. Grabbing our weapons, we abandon our craft and swim the last few feet. Every moment I expect to feel shark jaws clamping on my leg.
Our lead men are creeping over the gunwales now. I grip the lowest handhold and fling myself up the hull. A barnacle shell gouges my foot and I suppress a cry.
I forgot my boots! But it’s too late to worry about that. We scramble up and join the others crouching on the deck behind a small covered boat.
Pirates stand along the far gunwale watching the conflagration – their forms dark silhouettes against the flames. Excited chatter in a foreign tongue goes through their ranks. They seem like figures from the nether regions.
“Filthy scum,” I mutter, “get off my ship!”
Grappling hooks fly over from the rafts and dig into the wood behind us. At the same moment, a hail of rocks and bottles filled with quicklime arch overhead and crash among the pirates. As the bottles shatter, they release a choking powder.
The pirates roar in angry confusion. Invaders swarm aboard over the ropes.
“SOPRONIA!”
Our troops crash into the enemy like a battering ram. Men struggle under the glare of the flaming town. Fantastic shadows play about the deck – shouts and screams. I yearn to join the fight, but Clyde grips my arm.
“Stay, Your Lordship,” he says. “Your feet will be slashed to ribbons by the busted glass.”
It is an unequal contest. The mostly unarmed pirates are cut down where they stand or are forced over the gunwales into the sea.
“Raise our flag!” I yell.
Clyde swings up into the ropes and makes his way toward the top of the mainmast. He’s scarcely unfurled our banner when cheers drift across the water from the other ship.
“Hear that, Clyde?” I shout. “Talbot has also triumphed!”
Everyone goes mad with joy. Men shout across the water, trading playful insults with their comrades on the second ship. Others swing from the rigging like frolicsome children. When the mayhem dies down a bit, I hear a familiar voice at my side.
“I believe these are Your Lordship’s.”
I spin around to see Norman holding my dripping boots. Petra stands at his side.