Father James looked up weakly with tears in his eyes. He looked older. He took Matthias’s hand and they found some comfort in the warmth of each other’s touch.
The gentleman smiled, but sadly. “James, it’s been a long time.”
“Mr Hardy.”
“You must be Matthias?” The man regarded him with a fascinated stare before patting his hand softly. “I am Mr Hardy, Master of the Sandstone Castle.”
“You know each other?” said Matthias.
“I’ve known James for many years now. I was also a friend of your father’s.”
“Mr Hardy, this is not the time."
Father James had raised himself in his seat, his eyes never leaving the gentleman sat across from him.
“If we are to go to Sandstone Castle, does the boy not need to know who he is?”
After some thought Father James nodded. Most of the other diners had left now and the room was all but empty. The three men sat around the table; the Spaniard sitting at the bar and the innkeeper were the only others present.
“Alonso,” said Mr Hardy, “let us have some privacy.”
The Spaniard said something to the landlord and gave him a coin. The man promptly cast a quick look over his establishment before disappearing into the back rooms. Mr Hardy nodded to the guards at the door and they too left, but Matthias only heard a couple of steps after the door had closed.
Father James looked at Mr Hardy who nodded his approval before clearing his throat and speaking. “Matthias, you are not the son of a farmer. You’re real name is Matthias Cortés.”
For a moment Matthias couldn’t make sense of the words; it almost seemed like they had gone in and out of his head and he had only caught the gist. He stared back at his uncle.
“Your father was Michael Cortés, son of Hernan Cortés and husband of Margaret. He was my brother.”
Matthias leant back in his seat, the two front legs lifting off the floor. “You’re my uncle?”
“Please. Can you give us a moment alone?” Father James said to Mr Hardy.
“Of course,” said Mr Hardy. He led Alonso outside, gently closing the door behind him.
“My dear boy”, said Father James, holding Matthias’s hand. “I am afraid none of this is how it was supposed to be.” He made an empty gesture at the heavens. “Your father never wanted you to end up involved in all of this.
“He wanted to protect you. He made me swear to keep you safe and never let you to be touched by this dark world. He wanted you to live a long, happy, but largely ignorant life. And for all these years I kept my promise.”
“What happened to him?”
The old monk looked down as he spoke. “Not long after you were born our father, your grandfather, arrived at the abbey. He brought you and your sister with him and he told me that your mother, Margaret, had been murdered. He asked me to look after you both whilst Michael went to avenge her death. He never returned. Shortly afterwards a messenger brought this ring to the duke.”
Father James extended out his hand to show the sovereign ring on his smallest finger he had worn ever since Matthias had known him. It was intricate gold, with a solitary coin on top.
“This was your father’s ring. It is our family crest and the seal of Cortés.”
Matthias sat in contemplation for some time but after a while started to feel restless. He stood up and walked over to the smouldering fireplace. Absentmindedly he played with the poker stirring up the coals. Sparks briefly crackled but were quickly smothered by the ash.
“What is to happen to me?”
“I believe Mr Hardy would like us to return with him to the Sandstone Castle, a fortress where the duke trains his young soldiers, some of them children even younger than you.”
“An army?”
“A force, called ‘The Guard,’ who serve the duke; your father was a captain.”
“Who are they fighting?”
“The Legion. The Guard and the Legion are two groups of vast and powerful families at war with each other. Make no mistake though; the Guard strive to rid our lands of a great evil in the Legion. What you saw yesterday is an example of their most dastardly work.”
Matthias’s thoughts immediately returned to Rebecca. He breathed deeply and steadied himself on the inglenook. Why? Why had they been dragged into this? Why Rebecca? He asked his uncle.
“I cannot say. Perhaps Mr Hardy can enlighten us. Maybe they found out who you were? Your sister’s gift…It had attracted a certain amount of unwanted attention.”
At the mention of the word ‘gift’ Matthias turned to look at the monk.
“The castle is a school for special children. Gifted children. You are such a child and so was your sister. Her gift was the ability to conjure fire from thin air. Your gift is your speed. You are probably the quickest child I have ever seen; don’t think nobody noticed.”
There was the faintest of taps at the door and Mr Hardy put his head inside. Father James beckoned him over and he came and sat at the table; Alonso followed but remained standing.
“What happens now?” said Father James
“He knows?”
“Yes.”
“For now, I would suggest we head back to the castle where it is safe. We can talk more there about our next steps.”
The monk turned away, the firelight showing the shadows of tear stains on his smock. “When must we go?”
Alonso spoke. “Immediately. You may still be in danger.”
After some deep breaths they stood up, pulled on their cloaks and walked to the door. The two powerful looking men outside had eyes like hunters; Matthias noticed their gazes sweeping the courtyard and landscape as they all made their way to the awaiting carriage. The men produced rifles from somewhere and leapt on top. Mr Hardy stepped inside and Alonso shut the door on Matthias and Father James before bidding them farewell.
“Alonso,” said Mr Hardy, “The matter we discussed earlier. Please make sure my instructions are carried out to the letter. The trail grows colder as we speak. If you find him…we need him alive.”
“Yes. I understand,” said Alonso. His eyes dropped and Matthias heard a slight sigh.
“Of course,” said Mr Hardy, “I leave the definition of ‘alive’ entirely up to you.” The gentleman urged the driver to depart.
As they rode away Alonso faded into the giant shadow of an overhanging tree, but two small twinkles of light could be seen for a split second and Matthias saw them both. One was the moonlight reflecting on the Spaniard’s blade as he pulled it from his belt. The other was the faintest flash of his white teeth.
They rode on in silence for several hours. Nobody had anything to say but Matthias couldn’t possibly sleep. Each time he felt his head nod through sheer exhaustion the face of Rebecca would leap out from the darkness at him. What was this madness? How could such evil exist? He hoped Mr Hardy could answer some of his questions.
The gentleman looked sullen and ill at ease as he sat in the coach, the breeze buffeting one side of his face. His curly hair was swept back behind a thick hat atop which sat a silver buckle. In one hand he held a black wooden cane which he idly toyed with, staring out of the carriage window into the passing countryside.
“Mr Hardy?” whispered Matthias. The man looked at him with a start. Maybe he had been falling asleep. It had been a long night for them all and it was nearly morning.
“What is it?” he asked. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes. I just wanted to speak with you.”
Mr Hardy sat up, and looked attentive. “I will try to answer your questions as honestly as I can.”
“Tell me about them. About the Legion.”
“To understand the Legion you must first understand the duke.” Mr Hardy paused to take a look at the monk sat next to Matthias. Satisfied Father James was asleep, he continued.
“His Grace was a noble adventurer from Spain. One of the boldest of all time! He and his men made a great journey across the ocean and discovered a far o
ff land. And with it a secret. A fantastic secret.”
“What was the secret?” asked Matthias.
“Not many can say for sure. But it changed them and it changed their children.”
“Changed them?”
“Yes.” Mr Hardy leaned closer. “Matthias, did your uncle explain you were special? Like all the children in our castle?”
Matthias’s head was starting to turn over again. He felt he was grasping something but he wasn’t quite sure what it was.
“Yes…I am quick.”
Mr Hardy stifled a chuckle. “But how quick? Has it never occurred to you as you were growing up that you were so much quicker than the other children? Did you not play games and find them easier? Beat boys twice your size and age at sports?”
“Yes. But it came naturally to me.”
“It is in your blood. You too, like the other children in the castle, are a descendant of the true scions. What happened to them, happened to their sons, grandsons and everyone who came afterwards.” With this last comment he pointed a gloved finger at Matthias.
“Grandson. I am the duke’s grandson.”
“Yes. Your father was Michael Cortés, the duke’s son.” Mr Hardy’s eyes narrowed for a second as he gauged the reaction from Matthias.
Matthias sat back in his seat. He wasn’t sure he was fit to continue the conversation. He had grown up without any family except Rebecca and now, within the space of a day, he had learned he had a father, a murdered mother, an uncle who had watched over him in secret all his life and now a duke for a grandfather.
A thought occurred to him. He tilted his head toward Father James. “So why was he –”
“In the abbey?” said the monk, before Matthias could finish his sentence.
Mr Hardy chuckled. “So James, you weren’t asleep after all then? I hope you don’t mind me filling Matthias in on some of your family history”
“Not at all. As long as it is a balanced view I have no complaint.”
The two men regarded each other as the coach continued to trundle. It was raining outside now and the noise on the roof made it hard to be heard. Father James had to increase the volume of his voice and it made Matthias start.
“I am afraid my father and I don’t get along. I serve the Lord, whereas he believes I should serve him. I am a man of peace, not violence.”
“Neither is your father, sir,” said Mr Hardy. “He uses the sword only to defend his family and those under his protection.”
“My father trains children to kill. I don’t care whether it is for their own protection or not. Using an innocent child as a weapon of war is a sin in the eyes of our Lord.”
Matthias looked at the monk and spoke softly. “Maybe if they had been trained in the abbey they would have been able to defend themselves?”
Father James turned swiftly on Matthias, his eyes wide and red. “I had those children taken away for their protection before my father could get his hands on them. They were orphans. They needed comfort and guidance; not to be set loose as killers!”
Mr Hardy cleared his throat. “That isn’t a word we like to use, James.”
“I thought you said the children were training to be soldiers?” Matthias asked.
Mr Hardy smiled, “Matthias, you must understand ours is a secret war. We do not fight on battlefields. We fight in the shadows. In the council chambers and amongst the politicians. The castle is merely a training ground to prepare our agents for their work.”
“So who are the Legion?”
The gentleman looked at Father James and raised an eyebrow as if to ask for permission to continue. The monk exhaled and sat back in his chair.
“You see,” said Mr Hardy, “your grandfather was with five other Spanish noblemen when they stumbled upon the secret. But they couldn’t agree on what to do with it.
“The six men came to blows and fought as they argued over whether to share their mysterious treasure with the world or to present it to the King of Spain. The duke and his two friends said it was too dangerous, whereas the others believed that Spain could conquer the world by means of the secret. And so, after a bitter feud, the duke and his friends hid forever what they had found, telling no-one. Vasco and his allies have been after it ever since.”
“Vasco?”
“Vasco Nunez. Six great families took up arms against each other. On one side the houses of Pizarro, de Ojeda and Legazpi aligned to the duke. And the other side the houses of Balboa, de Soto and Nunez.” As he said the last name he spat on the floor with disgust. “We believe the attack on the abbey was carried out by a member of the Nunez family. A man by the name of Balthazar.”
“How do you know it was this man?” Matthias asked, rage already inside him now he had a name to connect it to.
“Alonso asked around the village. It would seem he ate at the very inn we were in the day before. From his description and some questioning of the locals we are quite sure.”
“Where is he?”
“We do not know, but Alonso is on his trail. Unfortunately for Nunez our mystic has taken very badly to what happened at the abbey and swore an oath to bring the man to justice. If I were Balthazar Nunez I would pray death finds me first. Alonso is very skilled with a blade. He can make someone suffer for quite a considerable length of time.”
Matthias thought of the wicked smile he saw on the Spaniard’s face as they had left the village. His head leaned against the carriage wall and his mind span with thoughts of the duke, his family, the war and finally his sister who died without knowing any of this. He must have drifted into some form of sleep because when he was woken by Father James it was daylight but they were under a great shadow.
He shifted over to the nearest side of the carriage and stuck out his head. Immediately he was hit by the blinding light of the sun. Squinting, he held his hand over his eyes as they grew accustomed to the daylight. The wind blew across his face clearing his mind and sight in one hit, but nothing could prepare him for what he saw.
They were on a dirt track at the foot of a great hill around which sprawled a patchwork of farm fields. Every so often there was a solitary farmhouse, smoke trickling upwards from thatched roofs. A hamlet, Matthias speculated, where the farmers paid rent to the duke for use of the fertile land. Over to his right was a thick forest that had so many trees you could barely see into it much beyond the large old oaks that stood at the edge like guardians, and on the left a large river busily made its way past. But all this was overshadowed by a great castle, the like of which Matthias had never imagined in all his dreams.
Imposing dark towers of stone seemed to grow out of the very ground itself. All the way up the stained glass windows were lit from behind by the setting sun and seemed to project the multitude of coloured light outward into the valley like a rainbow. It must have been ten, no twenty, times the size of the abbey and as they neared it the light from the windows bowed down to the enormous shadow of the castle itself. Matthias was still hanging out of the carriage door and staring in awe as they passed twenty foot black iron doors that sat in the middle of the front wall. The carriage continued around the side of the castle through a smaller entrance. Inside, a large stables, warehouses and servants quarters all appeared in what amounted to a small village on top of the hill.
They came to a halt and Mr Hardy gestured for him to exit. Opening the door Matthias was met by a boy who set a wooden box under the door to allow him to descend with ease. The boy, who was dressed in a smart black tabard, stood to one side.
“Is this where the duke lives?”
The boy stood by the carriage snorted with laughter and Matthias felt the skin on his face go red.
“Come now, Harry. We’ll have less of that. Matthias, allow me to introduce your new roommate, Harry. He is a new arrival like you, even though he pretends not to be.”
The young boy’s hands instantly whipped to his side to attention like a soldier and the smirk vanished from his face. Matthias got a chance to take look at him. He
had strong features and was bigger, but he also had a boyish nature on the face underneath golden brown hair which made Matthias think he was younger than he looked. His eyes gazed into the distance as he awaited a command.
“Indeed,” continued Mr Hardy, “Harry was so much of an expert when he arrived that he found his way to the latrines when he was looking for the storerooms. A mistake I am sure he will not be repeating, certainly not now he finds the time to mock others. Will you, Harry?”
“No, Mr Hardy,” was the sorrowful reply. The shoulders shrugged a little and it was clear he too was now every bit as embarrassed as Matthias had been.
“Harry will take you to your quarters and then I want you both in the mustering hall within the hour. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mr Hardy,” said Harry.
The gentleman disappeared and left the two boys alone. Harry gave Matthias a wink and said, “Come on then!” before darting toward a door and into the castle. Matthias followed.
The walls were bare stone, plastered in places, but for the main old and crumbling. Here and there oil lanterns lit the way and as he walked past door after door, corridor after corridor, Matthias was already feeling lost.
Finally they turned a corner and walked into a large hall. Several rows of tables and benches, at which sat children of various ages reading, eating or just playing games. At one table a couple of older boys were playing chess, at a second three girls were spinning wool whilst another read from her book and at one table Matthias thought he caught a glimpse of an older boy hiding something quickly in his coat. Fierce green eyes caught Matthias’s and it was clear he had noted an intrusion into his privacy.
They made their way to a corridor that led off the back before Harry opened the door to a small chamber.
“Our room,” said Harry. “Your things are in the trunk. We just passed through the mustering hall out there. I’ve got to finish my studying.” He scurried out of the door in a hurry.
Through the solitary window in the room enough light was let in to allow Matthias to inspect his surroundings in detail and his eyes fell immediately to the trunk. He opened it, expecting to see servant’s tabards or leather work clothes but was surprised to find the same black velvet outfit he had seen Harry in. Come to think of it, most of the other children back in the hall too. Was he not to work the land? Or take care of the animals? Work in the forest perhaps or look after game?
Children of the Fountain Page 3