The Test of Ostra

by Rory D Nelson

  “Tennilus, make quick work of it. I’m floundering. My heart is racing. Something is wrong. I’ll retrieve one of them.”

  Selenius does his best to blend in and perform the duties of campaigning Councilman, making his way around the room. He converses with a wealthy shepherd, Baltmore Gunning, who engages him in a lengthy conversation.

  Selenius looks around the room and sees Herod, who smiles politely and gives a brief wave. It is returned with an indignant glare. His wife Chastity smiles seductively as well. It only infuriates him. It is the smile of death- which smiles on us all.

  Domithicus and Syrus walk up along with Tennilus. Selenius motions them over. The gesture is understood. Quickly. “Where is Merlin?” asks Selenius, unable to keep the desperation from his voice.

  “He was detained. It couldn’t be helped. There was another robbery on the King’s caravan. The culprits are not far.”

  “Why couldn’t he send someone else?” demands Selenius.

  “He sent us in his stead,” says Syrus. “We are quite capable of protecting you. Merlin has briefed us of the situation.”

  “But you are not Merlin,” says Selenius acidly.

  “No, we are not, but he has entrusted us to your well-being. It is well-placed.”

  Across the room, Morgana excuses herself from Herod and makes her way to Fillbey, the head waiter. She smiles seductively at him. She walks up to him and takes one of the champagne glasses and then quickly and inconspicuously pulls back the cover on her ring, dropping the phenolybarbitol poison into one of the champagne glasses.

  “It’s the third one from the right. Do not forget. If you do, Herod will have your head and the head of your mother and sister as well.”

  “Ai, Lady-Sai.”

  The brethren and Tennilus fail to notice the brief exchange between Fillbey and Morgana. A fog settles over the scene and like the sky, their minds are briefly clouded. It is all the time she needs. Fillbey makes his way to the group.

  “I want Merlin here,” demands Selenius. “I fear something has already been done to me.”

  “Nothing escapes our notice,” says Domithicus adamantly. “Set watch and warrant it, we would have seen something. Calm down and entrust yourself to us.”

  Selenius shakes his head and reflexively reaches for one of the champagne glasses. Fillbey presents the poisonous glass to him and he takes it, suspecting nothing.

  Domithicus and Syrus take their glasses. Selenius takes several sips, and in less than a minute he drains his glass.

  Several seconds later, he feels a piercing, pinching pain in the middle of his chest as his heart responds to the poison in his veins. He tries to take a deep breath but comes up short and then clutches his chest reflexively, dropping to the ground.

  His wife, Ophelia, seeing her husband stumble to the ground, rushes to his side. Instead of trip-hammering in his chest, his heart slows down perilously low, forcing him to the ground and unable to hold his own weight. He falls and spasms. Ophelia screams.

  “He’s been poisoned!” yells Domithicus. “Give him some room!”

  “Where is Merlin?” cries Syrus.

  Ophelia sobs hysterically and clutches onto her husband as she feels his life force begin to drain out, his heart unable to keep his hand grasping onto hers. “Selenius, hold on, love. Merlin will help you. We’ll bring you back, set watch and warrant it.”

  “Merlin.” He croaks. He shuts his eyes and darkness overtakes him.

  A large crowd has gathered around Selenius, most out of great concern and sympathy and others out of morbid curiosity.

  Morgana and Herod walk up with the group of onlookers, feigning sympathy. “Such a pity,” says Morgana.

  “Ai, truly a loss to Gilleon. There is no more for us to do. Let us be off,” says Morgana.

  “Ai,” says Herod.

  Herod and Morgana walk out and motion to Tennyson to retrieve their carriage. He motions to Samuelson, their driver and opens their stagecoach door to let them in. As they enter, they exchange a knowing, gloating look.

  “Well done, my Love. We have eliminated that detestable, arrogant, fox for good. And I say good riddance,” says Herod. “Now, time to play the sympathetic councilman as my duty would dictate, a tripe annoyance, really.

  “But it is your duty. You must make the rounds, lest suspicion fall your way.”

  “Ai,” gloats Herod. “With Selenius dead, that leaves easier work on Lonnie. Mere pube play.”

  “She will be distraught beyond measure and will make a most pliable puppet. Think how comforted she will be when presented with the proposition of a reunion with a wayward husband after the untimely death of a most beloved patriarch.”

  Herod laughs a bellowing, hearty laugh. “Ai, ai, love. Couldn’t have expressed it better.”

  They see Merlin running towards the Stadio Club and laugh at his predicament.

  Still holding a champagne glass, Herod tips it to him, forgetting the gesture is aptly felt by Merlin. “Our deepest sympathies to you, comp.” He says mockingly. They laugh raucously at the slight.

  Domithicus and Syrus take turns administering chest pumping on Selenius in a futile attempt to revive him after observing a lack of pulse. Finally, they resign themselves that he is gone.

  “I cry pardon, Lady-Mais, your husband and our illustrious councilman is dead.”

  “No!” She sobs.

  Merlin walks in and all eyes turn to him.

  “Help him, Merlin!” cries Ophelia. Merlin walks over to Selenius and feels his pulse, confirming that it is not registering. He removes a large black satchel and opens it. “Leave us. All of you. At tempest halt!” He orders.

  Ophelia clings to Selenius, sobbing hysterically. Domithicus forcibly removes her. “Come, Mais. Permit Merlin to do his work.” She reluctantly lets him go.

  “Out!” orders Merlin. “I have only one chance at this!”

  Merlin quickly removes the contents of his bag and begins his work on Selenius.

  Two painstaking hours elapse. Ophelia wavers between quietly sobbing and looking off in the distance with a pathetic, vacant look on her face. Domithicus and Syrus take turns comforting her. “We should take this as a good sign. Merlin would have never stayed in there so long if all hope was lost. You ken?” asks Domithicus.

  “Ai,” agrees Syrus.

  “You really believe that?” asks Ophelia hopefully.

  “I would set watch.” Domithicus stops in mid-sentence. Merlin exits out of the room, wearing a somber look on his face.

  “Ophelia, I cry pardon. There was nothing more I could do. He’s gone.”

  Ophelia cries out hysterically. Domithicus and Syrus look at Merlin, an indignant, accusing look on their faces.

  “Where were you, Merlin?” Domithicus asks.

  “I had business to attend to. You know this.”

  “But nothing more urgent than the life of Pontius Selenius. You ken? He entrusted himself to you,” admonishes Syrus.

  “I am not omnipotent. I cannot be everywhere at every time. The world crumbles in two because I was not there to stitch it back together!” He shakes his head in frustration, remorse and guilt. “I cry pardon, but there is nothing more to do, except respect the man’s final wishes, prepare his funeral and ascertain the culprits.”

  “We know who the culprits are, but proving their culpability will be difficult, if not impossible,” says Domithicus, pointing out the obvious.

  Merlin walks up to him and stands only inches from him. Dom instinctively pulls back. “What is done is done, Dom. And with it, we have our duty to uphold. We must comfort a grieving widow, plan a funeral for our late friend and patriot and do a thorough investigation. You ken?”

  Domithicus nods. “Ai, Merlin. I cry pardon. No offense.”

  “None taken, brother. We are set to edge by what has transpired. Our emotions get the better of us. We need solidarity now more than ever. You ken?”

  “Ai,” say Domithicus and Syrus.

  “Fo
r Christ, for brethren, for country and for those who have died in service to it,” says Merlin.

  “Ai,” say Domithicus and Syrus. And they clasp each other around the forearms.

  Chapter 34: Agonizing Betrayal

  “Four caravans in the last quarter,” says Lucian, Milton Eberle’s Captain and highest-ranking officer, next to him.

  Milton Eberle nods somberly and puts his head down in shame, unable to meet Lucian’s gaze for a moment, out of mounting guilt.

  Milton cannot deny the bloodshed resulted-over twenty men killed in the line of duty, thanks in part to his treachery.

  “Someone is supplying them intelligence.”

  “Ai,” says Milton. “But we have questioned everyone. The inquiries continue to no avail. Whoever is behind these robberies is well-funded, organized, and ruthless beyond measure.”

  “Rumor in the ranks that Herod-Sai is behind the robberies,” says Lucian.

  “He is powerful enough to orchestrate such a plot, but at present there is no evidence supporting it.”

  “It sets us all on edge. You ken? The quiet, the waiting, the endless nights with inactivity, never knowing when and where they will strike is almost as bad as the violence itself. I would rather they show themselves. We will make quick work of them.”

  “I would have the culprits apprehended. It is our duty. Remain vigilant.”

  “Ai,” says Lucian.

  “I will take the first watch,” says Milton. “If they attack, I ken they will initiate an ambush just over that ridgeline. There is no choice for us. We must pass through it.”

  Milton goes out, feigning a vigilant watch. Milton feels the acidic and pervasive pang of remorse begin to burrow itself in the pit of his stomach. He grows weezy, dizzy, nearly collapses, and vomits but manages to hold it in.

  He reluctantly walks up to the high point on the ridge and removes the prism in his satchel. He takes it out and shines a magnifying glass on it, which causes the colors to disperse out in a pulsating light.

  Felinius is the first to notice the signal. He smiles. “It’s him. He’s in place. We’re ready to go lads. You ken?” He looks at Talgath, who has a staunch look on his face. It is the look of a man who has resigned himself to a hard course of action. “Are you ready to do Herod’s duty, Talgath?”

  “In me, you will find no better recruit. Nothing matters now except to see my kin so let us be about this haughty business.”

  “Ai.” He looks at the rest of the group. “Let’s head out lads! Time to earn your keep.”

  Milton and Lucian ride side by side, securing the caravan with the King’s gold. It is under tight lock and key behind a thick amberwood door that is at least six inches thick. Behind that sits two men armed with speed shooters, guarding the large safe which stores the raw gold bullion. They are taking no chances.

  “Something feels amiss.” says Lucian. “Do you not sense it?”

  He shakes his head. “Been on edge for the last several months. I can’t differentiate this moment from any other. If they are laying a trap, it is beyond me to ascertain.”

  “You saw nothing?” asks Lucian.

  “I saw nothing. Nothing whatsoever. But that doesn’t mean they are not out there. Look alive and be prepared for anything. I’ll go ahead and you double back. You ken?”

  Lucian nods. “Ai.”

  Milton travels up ahead and rounds the corner where the trap is set. He rides up to the crew of fifteen men. It is more than enough to make quick work of them all.

  Milton looks at them, Felinius in particular. He nods to them, somberly. He notices a new man has joined their ranks. Perhaps it is another reluctant soldier entrapped in this treachery.

  “My man Lucian is point man. He will give the riders the signal to cross when it is safe. Upon my command. Who is the new man?”

  “Oh, that is the notorious Talgath Selenius, son and only heir to Pontius Selenius. Have you not heard of him?”

  Milton scowls. “Ai. Have heard of his exploits. The last I heard was that he was captured in Cortez and due to be executed. By the cross, no doubt.”

  “And now he is among Herod’s employ. He is a gunslinger of some repute with a fiery trigger hand.”

  “Spare me a list of his attributes. Herod is inundated with henchmen. He is leverage against Pontius Selenius.”

  Felinius frowns. “You have been traveling a very long time. You have not seen the papers, have you not?”

  “What has happened?”

  “Pontius Selenius III is dead. The sole heir is now the daughter-in-law of Pontius Selenius.”

  “The estranged wife of Talgath, no doubt. What a convenient opportunity for Herod.”

  “We are not here to discuss the machinations of Herod-Sai but to see deed done. You ken?”

  Milton nods. “Ai. I would have this haughty business behind me, set watch and warrant it. There is a group of boulders on the downhill slope just beyond the crestline. You should be able to muster a clean shot. Make the shot clean and quick. I would not have Lucian suffer long.”

  Felinius nods. “Ai. Can guarantee he won’t feel a thing. It will be quick and merciful.”

  “I will not take part in the slaughter of my men,” says Milton.

  “Whatever eases your conscience, Captain. Just give us the signal and we shall do the rest. You ken?”

  “Ai.”

  Milton rides back to Lucian. He doubles over to expel the contents of his last meal.

  “You look as nervous as I feel. Is everything ok up there, Captain?”

  Milton nods. “Ai. Have seen nothing. We are in the clear. Let us go. You take point up ahead.”

  “Ai, Captain.”

  Lucian takes the point above the ridgeline and makes his way around the corner. The hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand up. For a split second, he has the sudden urge to take off in a mad rush, but duty keeps him grounded.

  Felinius dismounts the sniper rifle, checks the wind velocity and lines up his target, careful not to put the glass down at the last second. He holds his breath and releases the cap.

  Lucian catches a glimpse of the unusual glare from a piece of glass. He instinctively reaches for his speed shooter, but he is much too slow. Felinius fires the shot, sending a thirty-caliber bullet out of the back of his head. The effects are instantaneous and deadly. Blood and gore explode out of the back of the cavernous hole that has appeared, and he slumps down. His horse bolts off from the noise.

  Milton, feigning outrageous surprise, looks to his Lieutenant, Stallmite.

  “Stallmite, take your men and head to the caravan! Guard it with your life!”

  “Ai,” says Stallmite. He turns to leave but then looks at Milton. “Sir, you need backup. Won’t you allow me to accompany you?”

  “I can handle myself,” says Milton sharply. “Now heed my commands.”

  “Ai, Captain.”

  Milton gallops off. He hears another gunshot and winces, feeling the poison of treachery continuing to eat away into his gut. There is no priest who will hear his confession and if there were, he would be obligated to report his treachery to the king. Milton has no priest, only his journal, which documents in detail all the robberies of the King’s caravan he has orchestrated. He reaches for it inside his knapsack but is unable to find it.

  His heart seems to take a giant leap in his throat. Oh, Jesus. Please God. No. He looks further into the knapsack and painstakingly goes through each item. It’s not there. He must have dropped it when he heard the first shot ring out. If someone came across that journal, it could mean certain death for them all. It is a huge liability.

  Talgath descends from the ridgeline and dismounts from his horse quickly, letting his adrenaline fuel him. He unslings his long rifle, takes careful aim, and fires into the caravan. No one is hit, but the shot causes many men to disperse frenetically. Now he has his shot.

  He edges closer and lines up another shot. This time, he takes more deliberate aim. He fires and this time, his bu
llet finds home into the torso of one of the men. He falls to the ground from his horse, bleeding profusely from his side and wincing in pain.

  Talgath edges even closer and takes aim again, this time finding a bullet home in the skull of a man. He drops to the ground as blood spurts from the top of his head, drenching the surrounding area.

  By this time, several other men have joined in on the fight. Most of them lack the skill and mindset of Felinius and Talgath. Their shots appear to be aimless rather than carefully aligned.

  Still, haphazard shots eventually find a home when enough bullets are spent. One other man named Willem is an exceptional gunfighter like Talgath and Felinius. His rounds are well spent and several soldiers drop to the ground, clutching their necks, chest and torsos to stifle the incessant blood flow but to no avail.

  Talgath slings his long rifle back into the shoulder holster and draws his right speed shooter. He sprints to the caravan and trips himself, in the nick of time, before a bullet would have hit him in the torso.

  He ducks behind a tree and takes a few potshots, unsure of where the man who fired upon him is. He peeks his head around the corner. He hears a shot ricochet off a tree branch just inches from his head.

  Though he almost got his head shot off, he is nevertheless able to ascertain where the shot was coming from. The man is hiding behind a large cypress tree near the Caravan, taking potshots from a distance. He is skilled. But so is Talgath.

  He unslings the long rifle from its holster and readies himself. He inches around the corner and aims, not taking direct aim at the man but aiming for the tree, hoping instead to unsettle him and perhaps coax him out of his hiding place. He fires, hitting a branch very close to the man. Talgath fires again and again. He unloads several more rounds.

  The man, hoping to stifle the relentless rounds of gunfire from Talgath, fires his own long rifle. Talgath fires again. The other man inches around the corner, trying to take aim. It is his undoing. Talgath fires a round directly into his shoulder. The man cries out in agony, dropping his long rifle.