by Chuck Black
“I'm Hatty, Anya's mother. Thank you, sir.”
Bentley tried to keep from staring. The woman was so thin and frail that Bentley was amazed she could even stand. Her cheeks were sunken, her hair was thin, and her eyes seemed nearly hollow. Whatever ailed her was obviously winning.
Bentley took her ice-cold hand. “You are welcome.”
Anya hugged Bentley's legs. “I'm sorry, Bentley, I didn't—”
He knelt down and gently hugged her. “It's all right, my little princess.”
Anya put her arm around Bentley's neck and turned out to look at her mother. “Mama, this is Sir Bentley, the knight I was telling you about!”
There was a bit of a stir about them, especially from the children. A little boy came and stood next to Bentley, squinting his eyes as though inspecting him.
“Are you really a knight?” He crossed his arms. “You don't look like a knight.”
Bentley laughed and opened his mouth to respond.
“He is too!” Anya squinted back at the boy. “Only knights can jump in front of horses and not get killed! And he knows lots of stories about lots of knights.”
The boy's eyes widened. “Really?”
By now a dozen children and half as many parents had gathered around them. Bentley looked up and found himself in quite a predicament.
“Tell them a story” Meg said as she and Nia joined the small crowd.
Bentley thought for a moment. “How about I tell you a story that no one here has ever heard before, and yet it is as true as I am standing before you.”
The children danced with excitement, and by now their number had grown simply because there was a gathering.
“Sit down, children, and listen to a tale as grand as you will ever hear, for the waves of the Great Sea itself will hush to silence for such a story.”
More than thirty children and as many adults gathered and sat quietly, waiting for Bentley to begin his story.
“Not long ago, the mighty King of Arrethtrae looked out across the Great Sea and saw the plight of His people. He heard of their poverty.” Bentley lifted the tattered corner of his tunic. “He heard of their sickness.” He motioned toward Anya's mother. “He heard of their persecution.” He motioned toward the great castle that stood just a stone's throw away. “And he was grieved to the heart, for His archenemy, the Dark Knight, had caused it all.”
Bentley's eyes narrowed and his face became serious as he bent down to look at the children face to face. Their eyes became big, and they scooted away from him as he drew on Demus's teaching to tell the story. From the corner of his eye, he saw a few of the parents conferring nervously.
“Now, the Dark Knight is a fearsome warrior that is powerful and cunning, with eyes like dark steel and a sword as swift as the land has ever seen. All who see him tremble, for he is merciless and wants to destroy all that the King calls good.
“The King knew that this mighty warrior was too powerful for any knight in Arrethtrae to overcome. He was even more powerful than the King's own mighty force, the Silent Warriors. The King knew that there was only One who could overcome the powerful Dark Knight and save the people from him and his evil Shadow Warriors. It was…”
Bentley paused, and everyone became still as he whispered the answer.
“The Prince, the King's only Son.”
“What's He like, Bentley?” Nia asked.
Bentley smiled and nodded as if to think, his mind racing to remember Demus's teachings. “His hair is like strands of gold, and his eyes burn like fire. His brow is noble, and His arms are as strong as iron. The power of His sword is like the force of a thousand horses, and when He speaks, the birds of the air hush to listen and the mountains tremble at His voice.
“He is a Knight of knights, children. And though He is as grand as all of this, He cares deeply for the humblest of His subjects.”
At this, Bentley reached over and stroked Anya's cheek. She smiled up at him as he continued.
“And so, with heaviness of heart, the King sent His Son to Arrethtrae. But you would not have recognized Him when He came.”
“Why not?” a little boy asked.
“Because He did not come as a Prince but as a pauper, just like you and me.”
The children tilted their heads.
“The Prince clothed himself in rags and lived with the commoners, calling them to follow Him and train for battle against the Dark Knight. The Prince trained many to become knights. And when the training was complete…”
“He fought and defeated the Dark Knight?” one little boy shouted.
“No,” Bentley said, and his thoughts turned back to that day when he was but a lad. This was where the stories of years past caught up to his own life, and he no longer became just a narrator but a character in his own tale. “An army of mighty knights came to capture the Prince because they did not believe He was the King's Son. They surrounded His men, and though He could have fought and survived the battle, He gave himself freely so that His men would not be killed. It was a dark day for the Followers of the Prince, for these powerful but foolish knights killed the mighty Prince.”
The children shook their heads. “No!” they exclaimed in a commotion. Tears were running down little Anya's face.
“But wait.” Bentley held up his hand. “That is not the end of the story.”
The children hushed again.
“The King reached across the Great Sea with His great love for His Son and for His subjects and used the power of the Life Spice to bring Him back to life. This may sound preposterous, little ones, but let me tell you that I know men who have seen the risen Prince with their own eyes and will breathe their very last breath swearing to the truth of it all.”
Bentley paused and looked at the children and then to the parents gathered around. The crowd had swelled even larger now.
“Those who choose to follow the Prince and believe Him can become gallant Knights of the Prince.” He looked at Anya's huge, questioning eyes. “Yes, even little ones. His Knights know who the Dark Knight is and that he is trying to destroy Arrethtrae and the King's people. They train, they battle, they journey, they live, and they die because of the greatness of the Prince. If you look closely, you will see the heart of the Prince within them. And one day, the great Prince will come back to Arrethtrae with an army to utterly destroy the Dark Knight and his evil warriors.”
Bentley put his hand to his ear. “Listen!” he said, and the children hushed once more to silence. “When you hear the sound often thousand horses and feel the rumble beneath your feet, know that the Prince is coming and the day of the Dark Knight will end!”
The children's eyes were wide with excitement. They began to clap and cheer, and Bentley bowed to them all. Before long the parents gathered them up and journeyed on their way.
When all the children had left, Anya came to Bentley. He knelt down, and she put her left hand on his shoulder. She looked deeply into his eyes, and his heart melted.
“Bentley,” she whispered, “are you the Prince?”
Bentley's eyes teared up in an unexpected wave of emotion. He knew he fell so wholly and completely short of who and what the Prince was. And yet he realized that it was the Prince in him that Anya saw, and he was humbled. This trek of discovery was nothing like he had imagined… and yet so much more.
“No, Anya,” he whispered back. “I am not the Prince. But I want to be like Him.”
Anya thought for a moment and then leaned over to give Bentley a kiss on his cheek. “I can tell I'm going to like Him too.”
Bentley said good-bye as Anya's mother took her hand and guided her home. He stood slowly and gazed at the castle.
“That's quite a tale ye spin, Ben,” a familiar voice said from behind him.
Bentley turned around. “I do my best.”
“An’ what's this I hear 'bout your escapades with the Mercy Maiden?” Walsch said with a broad grin.
Bentley grinned back. “I helped her deliver some food, that's
all.”
“Ya must be hard up, Ben—or is it that she reminds ye of the damsels back home?”
Bentley laughed out loud as a pretty red-headed young woman came to stand next to Walsch. She cleared her throat to get his attention. He turned, and delight filled his eyes.
“Ben.” He took her hand. “I'd like ye t’ meet my Luanne.”
Bentley bowed. “I am pleased to meet you.”
“I've just asked Luanne's father for her hand in marriage,” Walsch said.
Luanne's joy was obvious, and the two exchanged a glance so intimate that it made Bentley momentarily uncomfortable.
“Then a congratulations is in order,” Bentley said quickly and bowed to the couple.
They talked for a time and ended with a promise to meet more frequently than before. Bentley rejoined Creighton and his family and they returned to the farm. As he lay on his straw bed that night, he smiled as he thought of the children and the story he had told them. Their wonder and excitement encouraged him.
If only the rest of the kingdom would have ears as eager as theirs, he thought as he fell peacefully asleep.
A SENTENCE
OF DEATH
Bentley stayed with Creighton and Anwen until Creighton's leg was fully healed. He continued to work with them as they needed, but he also looked for opportunities to help many of the families that he and Eirwyn had visited on her last Mercy Maiden trip. He avoided contact with Kingsley's guards and knights as much as possible, for they would not take kindly to his efforts among the people—or to the stories he told the children.
Late one afternoon, Bentley was helping a family patch a roof when he saw the familiar forms of the Mercy Maiden, Parson, and their wagon pass by. He promptly followed after and had no small effort in catching up with them, for the horse seemed to be traveling extra fast today.
“Eirwyn!” he called, out of breath as he ran beside the wagon.
She looked at him sternly. “Don't call me that!”
“Please forgive me. It's been so long. May I help you today?”
“No.” She tried not to look at him. “I don't think so.”
“Anya's mother is much worse,” he said, still trying to keep up with the pace she had set for the horse.
At that, Eirwyn stopped the horse and looked solemnly at Bentley. She motioned to the back of the wagon for Bentley to jump on, but he jumped up beside her instead.
Eirwyn smirked. “How can ya stand it? I stink like my hogs!” She gave him a crooked smile that wasn't really a smile at all, but it revealed her blackened teeth again.
“I don't mind,” Bentley replied. “Too much,” he added and grimaced a smile.
She huffed and set the horses in motion again.
Wouldn't Mother be proud? Bentley thought as he imagined introducing Eirwyn to his parents. A big smile crossed his lips, and he had to turn away so Eirwyn wouldn't see it.
“Best git to Anya's cottage first,” she said.
They arrived at the cottage, and Bentley began to fear the worst, for as they came to the rickety door, they heard soft crying within.
“Hatty!” Eirwyn called as she knocked on the door. “Anya?”
“Come in,” the voice of the doctor called out.
They opened the door to the smell of death in the room. Anya sat on the bed next to her mother, leaning close to hear her words. With one hand she held her mother's hand, and with the other she clutched the cloth doll Eirwyn had given her. The doctor looked at Bentley and Eirwyn from the opposite side of the bed and shook his head.
Eirwyn pursed her lips and sat next to Anya, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. The doctor came and talked quietly to Bentley.
“She'll not make it through the day. There's nothing more I can do. I'll arrange for the burial, but I don't know what's going to become of the little girl.”
“Surely there must be some family here who will take her in,” Bentley whispered.
The doctor shrugged. He finished gathering his items, placed them in a bag, and then looked at Bentley.
“No one here can afford to feed another child,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “especially one who will never be able to produce.”
“I'm sorry,” the doctor said, seeing the anger on Bentley's face, “but that is simply the truth.”
Bentley went to the bed and knelt down opposite of Eirwyn and Anya. Hatty was struggling to find the strength to speak her last words.
“Anya, you have been the joy of my life.” Hatty reached up and touched Anya's cheek. “You have given me courage to go on. Be strong, my precious, and do not let this place steal away the brightness of your heart.” Her hand slowly fell to the bed, and she struggled for one last breath.
She spoke her last words as the air escaped her lungs. “I love you, Anya.”
“I love you, Mommy…I love you!” Anya said over and over through a flood of tears.
Bentley's vision blurred, and his heart broke in two as he watched the cruel sickle of death separate mother from daughter. Eirwyn tried to comfort Anya as she leaned upon her mother's chest. Anya finally turned to Eirwyn and collapsed into her embrace, and their tears mixed together in a pool of deep sorrow.
Bentley put a gentle hand on Anya's shoulder. She looked up and wiped her eyes. “What will happen to me now?”
Bentley looked at Eirwyn, and he could tell by her expression that she had no answer to give the girl. Neither did he.
Just then the door creaked open and Walsch entered. He motioned for Bentley to come to the door. “I spotted Kingsley's guards coming up the way,” he said quietly.
Bentley looked at Eirwyn as she tried to comfort Anya.
“I'll see to it. Stay with them for a moment, will you, Walsch?” He motioned toward the bed with his eyes.
Walsch nodded.
As Bentley exited the cottage, he grabbed Hatty's staff, which was leaning against the door frame. Outside, he spotted two guards taking food from Eirwyn's cart. Parson stood off to the side, glaring at the men but not restricting their raid.
The guards’ laughter ignited a flame of wrath within Bentley, and he walked briskly toward them. “Leave that food alone!” he shouted.
The two men ignored him. Parson looked at Bentley and shook his head as each guard threw a half-eaten piece of fruit on the ground and grabbed another.
Just as Bentley reached them, Eirwyn called to him from behind, “Leave 'em be, Bentley.”
Bentley glared at the men, whose pompous laughter had turned to scorn. “Back away, peasant!” one of them said, moving his hand to his sword.
Eirwyn reached Bentley's side.
“You again!” one of the guards said angrily. “Go tell Sir Avarick,” the guard said to his companion, who rode off in a hurry toward the castle. “You cannot sell your wares without paying the tax.”
“She doesn't sell these goods,” Bentley said, “so there is no tax.”
The man scowled. “Everything produced in Holbrook is taxed.”
“These were not produced in Holbrook,” Bentley retorted, “so there is no tax.”
“Quiet, knave!” The guard drew his sword.
“Come, Bentley,” Eirwyn pleaded and pulled on his arm. “Leave the cart. Let's go.”
“You're not going anywhere!” The guard moved toward Eirwyn. “Sir Avarick will want reparations for your past infractions.”
Bentley shook his arm loose from Eirwyn and stepped forward, holding the staff in a sparring position as a barricade between the guard and Eirwyn. Parson moved forward too, but Eirwyn held up her hand to stop him, and he held his place.
“You will not touch her!” Bentley said. He heard the door of the cottage open behind him, but Walsch didn't speak a word. Bentley stole a quick glance in that direction and saw Anya in Walsch's arms, then turned his attention back to the guard.
The guard looked at Bentley, and his eyes narrowed with anger. He drew back his sword and made a powerful crosscut that was intended to slice Bentley clean through. Ei
rwyn gasped and Anya screamed.
Bentley ducked, but it was not enough. He used one end of the staff to engage the sword and deflect it over his head. Once the sword was clear, Bentley swung the staff around and struck the guard on the shoulder with it. He then advanced before the guard could recover and jammed the end of his staff into his opponents abdomen.
The guard grunted and nearly lost his sword as he recoiled from the attack. Doubled over from the blow, he looked up at Bentley incredulously. He yelled and put both hands to his sword, bringing an onslaught of cuts and slices.
Bentley now handled his staff like a sword, being careful not to let the leading edge of the guard's sword directly contact the wooden staff He skillfully deflected most of the blows with the staff and dodged those he could not.
Walsch and Eirwyn stood mesmerized by Bentley's skill and ability to stay alive in spite of his extreme disadvantage. At one point, the guard thrust with his sword. Bentley parried it and then quickly countered with a blow to the guard's head using the end of the staff. The guard cried out and fell, clutching his head, just as Sir Avarick arrived with a contingent of five mounted knights.
They dismounted with swords drawn. Three surrounded Bentley while the two remaining knights pointed their swords at Parson. Bentley stood panting, his eyes lowered. He had allowed his anger and frustration to overcome him, and now he knew he was going to pay for it with this life.
“You impetuous fool!” Avarick, still sitting atop his mount, spoke with hatred in his eyes. “No one questions my authority, peasant. Kill him!”
“No!” Eirwyn screamed, but it was not a plea—it sounded like an order. Walsch grabbed her arm, but she loosed herself and came closer to the wagon.
“Back off, you filthy wench!” said one of the knights and raised his sword to strike her. Parson raised his hands, and the knights near him readied to strike.
“Hold!” Avarick commanded and broke his glare from Bentley to look at Eirwyn. He dismounted and slowly walked toward her. For a brief moment the kingdom seemed to pause, waiting impatiently for the outcome of this dire situation.