Deck of Cards

by Johnson, ID

  The meat was dry and the wine was flowing. Philip tried not to drink too much, afraid of losing his tact again, yet it also occurred to him that a bit of inebriation might make this painful conversation a bit more bearable. It was all he could do not to scream at the chatty little blonde woman to stop talking! But, he was inclined to be patient and show some kindness so as to restore Katey’s sense of comfort with him. He tried to focus on his bride-to-be instead of her spokeswoman. She also looked as if she were having difficulty with Joan’s incessant chattering. Occasionally, Katey threw her elbow in her lady’s direction, as if begging her to stop, but the message was lost and she continued, the rest of the table either feigning interest or engaging in side conversations, despite the rudeness of participating in such an activity.

  Unlike the other evening when Philip had preferred a more intimate dinner party, he had invited all of his usual subjects to join them tonight. He wasn’t exactly sure how many more opportunities they may have to gather around this table and he wanted everyone present, not because he cared about their welfare but because wanted as many chances as possible to assert his authority as king. If he found himself a prisoner or a guest in neighboring Gradenia soon, he would no longer command his own table, no longer be the most important person in the room. Therefore, it was essential to take advantage of these opportunities before they were gone.

  Unfortunately, the drabble spewing from the mouth of Lady Joan was just about enough to send him over the edge. He finally found himself interrupting her, turning to Charles and beginning a completely separate conversations about something that interested him; himself. “Charles, tell everyone about the archery contest we had this afternoon,” he commanded.

  Charles looked a bit confused at first, not sure if he should, at the very least, let Joan finish the sentence she was uttering, or if he should do as he was told. It really wasn’t much of a contest, but Charles understood what His Majesty was doing, and so, looking forgivingly at Joan, he began to relay the story, embellishing all the parts where the king had been successful and leaving out all of the parts where he had not. And of course he made light of the fact that the only reason they had been practicing archery was because they both believed that division of their army was incompetent and they needed some direction. In fact, even Charles, a member of the cavalry for many years before becoming the king’s advisor, was better at shooting than the so-called best archer. In all, the story was a pathetic attempt to assure citizens of Castle Blackthorn that their king was capable of defending them and that, even in the midst of an inevitable attack, he was so assured of their ability to fend off any enemy that he was partaking in recreational activities. And most of the ass-kissing members of the gentry present congratulated the king on his triumph, failing to realize the ridiculous nature of participating in such an event on the cusp of an invasion.

  Katey, of course, saw right through the aggrandizement and snickered quietly to herself each time one of the other diners complimented King Philip on his accomplishments. It was all a sham, a charade. And soon they would be begging King Caleb for mercy while Philip either found the sharp end of a sword or ran with his tail between his legs to the protection of his cousin’s kingdom.

  Her only hope was that she would be able to somehow convince Caleb that she swore no allegiance to Philip and that she would gladly and willingly return to Arteria with him, and God-willing, King Matthew. Otherwise, she prayed she would be returned safely to her family.

  ***

  The king’s bedchamber had a full window and, even through the thick burgundy drapes, the light illuminated Rose’s face, making it impossible to sleep. Philip was gone, had left before the sun came up. She knew he would be. The advancing army had them all greatly concerned. Last night, after he made violently love to her, he had wanted to talk about the war. Rose knew something was different because he never wanted to converse when they were done. He usually fell asleep or told her to, “Get out! Now!”

  But this time, he had confided in her. He sounded a bit like a frightened child. He was afraid of losing his kingdom, his home. He said he didn’t know what he would do if Leopold didn’t send help soon.

  Though she was slightly concerned for the king and other castle-dwellers, Rose’s primary concern was for herself. If the Arterians were truly as close as it seemed, she would have to find a way to make sure she survived the attack and, if possible, improved her station. As she lay in the king’s bed, surrounded by all of his finery, she dreamt of becoming a queen. Who the king was really didn’t matter. And if Philip was about to end up a pauper, well, perhaps she should consider all of her services rendered. Yet, part of her truly cared for him as well. Perhaps, if he escaped to Gradenia, he would agree to take her with him. Then, as a guest in Leopold’s land, perchance Philip would realize at last that she was his one true love and they could wed. Even if her king no longer had a kingdom, she would still be a queen. And that was all she had ever wanted.

  ***

  It had been a long time since Katey had written or drawn anything. She knew how to write, as she knew how to read, and she would occasionally communicate with others via inscription. However, she tried to avoid it whenever possible. Just as her mutism allowed her to keep her thoughts private, so did her refusal to write. But today, she needed to let Matthew know what she had discovered on her subterranean exploration of the castle. So, she decided, the best way to do that was by drawing a map.

  She found him in good spirits as usual, eager to pass through his debris and wolf down her sustenance. He called her Angel, which made her blush, and she gave him time to eat and drink the water she had brought before she finally passed him the map.

  “What’s this?” he asked, unfolding the thin parchment. His eyes lit up when he realized what she had brought him. “Is this, a map?” She acknowledged that it was and he poured over her recreation of the layers below the castle. Like many older castles, there was no dungeon below Blackthorn. There were, however, several tunnels and passageways. Unfortunately for Matthew, all but one of them led either to the north or to the west, the two directions he would need to avoid. The only tunnel that led to the southeast was also the sewer. Katey had considered an attempt at prying off the metal grate that obstructed the opening of the narrow passage to see exactly how disgusting a journey through this viaduct might be, but she couldn’t get it loose and if the smell was any indicator of what lay on the other side, there was no way that she was going in there. If Matthew chose that avenue, he would have to discover its culmination all by himself.

  Matthew studied the rendering closely. Katey couldn’t really see him but she could hear him occasionally making a quiet comment, “Oh, so this one leads here. Okay, okay. I could go that way but, no. Hmmm.” Finally, he turned back to Katey and asked, “Alright, what do you recommend, Angel?”

  Katey had thought long and hard about what she felt would be Matthew’s best prospect. She hated to advise him because she didn’t want the responsibility of knowing she had chosen a path that may eventually lead him to recapture or, worse, termination. Nevertheless, he had asked her council and she absolved to answer him. She gestured for him to give her back the paper, which he did, and she used a small piece of charcoal to trace a path on the parchment for him. She handed it back to him and he studied it intently. “What’s this?” he asked, indicating a doorway that Katey had drawn on the paper. She took it back and labeled it appropriately. “War room” he read. So, in order to use that route, he would have to walk right past the war room. Interesting, and yet, considering all of the other possibilities, it did make the most sense. There was one other important inscription. In the tunnel she had indicated, Katey had written, “shoes and clothes.” Matthew considered this before asking, “Will you leave these here for me?” She nodded. “Have you already?” Again, she nodded. “Where did you get them?” She smiled broadly, wishing she could tell him. He seemed to understand. “Are they Philip’s?” he asked, reflecting her smile back at her and
joining her in laughter when she confirmed his suspicion.

  “Well, Angel, it seems you’ve thought of everything. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all of your help.”

  Her smile was enough to let him know she was happy to have had the opportunity to help. Katey had one more thing to hand him but she wasn’t sure if it would fit through the narrow opening. She was determined to try so she got it out of the satchel she was carrying and held it up for him to see.

  “What’s this? “ he asked as she attempted to wedge it through the opening. It was a thick black piece of cloth, the type one might find on the back of a piece of furniture. She also had a few finishing nails but there was no way a hammer would slide through the constricted opening. He would have to use the knife or something else to pound the nails in around him. It was not fool proof. Upon close inspection anyone would certainly be able to see that this piece was not attached securely, but she was praying that Philip and his men were just the sort of fools who might fall victim to this sort of trickery.

  “Unbelievable!” Matthew exclaimed once they were able to work the thick fabric through the slot. “This—this just might work!” He immediately went over to the large shelf, scooted it out from the wall, and held the material up to see if it was long enough. It was, in fact, a tad bit too long. It would certainly fit the back of the cabinet. “This will do nicely!” He took the fabric and the finishing nails and placed them inside of the back where he was almost finished creating an opening big enough to slide inside the piece and hide. The work was tedious and slow going, but he had nothing better to do and it felt like he was helping himself for a change.

  He slid back across the room on his knees, bumping in to the door. “Angel, I don’t know how to thank you enough for all of your help. You’ve been so unbelievably kind. If there’s ever anything that I can do to repay you, please know that I will.”

  She smiled back at him, wishing she could find a way to tell him just how much he meant to her. Even though she had only met him a few days ago, it seemed as if she had known him always. He had restored her faith, proven that those in power can still be kind, and let her know that it was possible for her to find true love.

  In fact, she was almost certain she was falling in love with him right now.

  Matthew could only see her eyes, those stunningly clear, light blue eyes. His Maggie had been gone for six months. It seemed like an eternity. It seemed like just yesterday. He had spent so many hours in this room imagining that she was still out there, that one day they would be reunited. In his heart, he knew that was not the case. He had watched her die. Now, staring into the eyes of this angelic creature, he suddenly started to feel as if his heart might one day heal and, perhaps, he truly could be happy again. “Angel,” he said softly, “Would you consider going with me?”

  She was stunned. She was not expecting this at all. Of course, of course, she would love to go with him. But the logistics would be almost impossible. How would she know when he would be able to escape? How would she be sure to find him without tipping Philip and his men off to his location?

  He misread her expression of confusion as refusal. “It’s alright, I understand,” he said sounding bitterly disappointed.

  Shaking her head violently, she attempted to convey her message. His puzzled expression told her he didn’t comprehend. She motioned for the paper and after a second he realized what she wanted and handed it back through the slot. She simply wrote, “I am scared,” and handed it back.

  He read it, considered it, and then gently asked, “Scared of being caught? By Philip?”

  She nodded and then so did he. “I see,” he said, still disappointed but at least understanding that it wasn’t because of him. “If, if there was a way, would you come? Or, if I was able to send for you, would you come with me?”

  This time she nodded her head vigorously, which made him smile broadly. “Good, good, that’s a relief. Alright then, well, we will figure it out alright?” Once again she nodded. He smiled at her reassuringly. “We’ll find a way. We’ll find a way to be together, safe and sound beyond these castle walls. I promise.”

  ***

  Philip shot upright in bed, the sudden noise rousing him from a pleasant dream and sending him straight back to the reality of impending doom. The banging on the door continued and this time the whore next to him sat up, placing her hand on his arm,

  “What’s going on?” she asked groggily.

  Pushing Rose’s hand off, annoyed, Philip stood and pulled on his robe. “Just a bleeding minute!” he yelled as he crossed the large room to the door. Tying his robe, he pulled open the solid oak door, not caring that Rose lay naked on the bed behind him, barely covered with a tangled sheet. “What is it?” he spat at the pair of guards standing on the other side.

  The one in front, the muscular bald man whom had been doing the pounding, glanced at his companion and replied, “We’ve got a visitor, Your Majesty. A horseman has just arrived from Gradenia.”

  Philip sighed in relief. Finally! After weeks of waiting, help was on the way! “Very good!” he said, grabbing the startled man by the arm. “That’s wonderful news! Have him wait in the Throne Room and I’ll be by directly.” He started to close the door but the second guard caught it. “What? What else?” he asked, growing angry again.

  The two guards exchanged glances, as if neither of them wanted to tell him the second part of the message. Finally, the second guard stammered, “Well, Your Highness, there’s been a breach. A large breach.” Before he could say more, Philip was grabbing him by the shoulders, pinning him against the wall, opposite of the door.

  “What do you mean there’s been a breach?” he demanded. He could feel the hand of the first guard tugging him back. “How bad is it?” he asked pushing the subordinate harder against the stone.

  The bald man behind him answered. “Sir, it’s pretty bad. The army is falling back. Cuthburt is attempting to rally them, to stop them, before Caleb reaches the wall surrounding the village outside of the castle. There’s a chance, a small one, but a chance that the reserve troops, the ones waiting at Skull Bridge, will be able to slow them a bit. Possibly give the Gradenians a chance to get here first, if they are on their way and if our men can hold. But, Sir, it does not look promising.”

  The entire time he had been speaking, Philip had been holding his colleague against the wall, pushing against him with all of his might. With the completion of that final sentence, Philip released him, and he slumped forward into the arms of the other guard, a pale shade of blue, struggling to breath and wheezing violently. Philip said nothing, turning back towards his room, an air of shock and defeat hanging over him. Even if Gradenian forces were on the way, they would not reach Blackthorn in time. The line at Skull Bridge had to hold. He would ride out as soon as possible and make sure that it did.

  As he began to shut the door behind him, he heard the guard say, “Sir, what are your orders?”

  He almost chuckled. Since when did anyone carry out any of his orders? “I’ll be by to meet with the courier from Gradenia momentarily. You tell Cuthbert that if he doesn’t hold that line at Skull Bridge I will personally remove every bit of flesh from his skull with my own fingernails and make him feast on his own dull-witted, idiotic brain!” He slammed the door so violently behind him that it shook on its hinges, causing the other occupants of the castle located nearby to jump, and reminding them of the sound of cannon fire.

  Philip dressed quickly. Rose watched from her perch on the bed. She had, of course, heard the entire conversation. She knew more than most. She knew that her days in Blackthorn were numbered. She hoped that Philip saw enough value in her to let her stow along, should he decide to flee to Gradenia. This might be her last chance to prove her worth. “Philip,” she whispered, dropping the sheet she had wrapped around her, “Please, take me with you.”

  Stomping his foot into his boot and pulling his belt tight, Philip turned and looked at her, equal parts enraged and annoyed. “
What?” he asked, shocked at her tenacity.

  She swallowed hard, wondering if perhaps this time she had gone too far. But Rose was determined. “Take me with you, to Gradenia. I can’t imagine my life without you.” Philip placed his hands on his hips, sighing heavily, and glancing down at the floor. She was not exactly sure how to read this, so she decided to continue. “She may be your wife. She may be your queen. But I’m the one who knows how to please you. I’m the one who loves you. Please, take me with you.”

  Philip squeezed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes tightly, attempting to regain his self-control. Finally, he began to walk across the room. Rose stood to meet him, hoping for an embrace, an indication that he saw her usefulness. He stared into her eyes for just a second before drawing back his gloved hand and backhanding her right beneath her eye, sending her reeling onto the bed. “You’re a whore,” he spat in as calm a voice as he could muster. He turned quickly on his heels and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

  Rose tried to hold back her tears but she couldn’t. She began to sob and then her entire body began to convulse. It wasn’t just the pain, though she felt as if her eye was about to explode right out of it’s socket, it was the defeat, knowing she would never be good enough for him. He was right. She was a whore. And it seemed like that was all she was ever going to be. After a few moments, she finally began to regain her composure. She wiped away her tears and let her sorrow turn to anger. “Well,” she said aloud to the empty room, “I might be a whore but I will never be your whore again.”

  ***

  The herald from Gradenia was waiting in the Throne Room when Philip arrived. He was a slight man with dark black, greasy hair. He wore armor like a knight but it was jointed by black mesh. He held his helmet in his hand and glanced at Philip impatiently, as if he had more important things to do than wait around on an indolent king.