The Prince of Warwood and the Fall of the King (Book 2)

by J. Noel Clinton

  Father O’Brien was caught, and he knew he would have to allow it. He grimaced at her and after a moment, gave her a curt nod.

  With a grin, Ephraim sat back down in the witness chair.

  “Mr. Hardcastle, were there any special circumstances surrounding King Wells’ choice in committing these crimes?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. The prophet, Abraham Vincent, told him that the only way he could save his son was to obtain a more potent supplement to his existing rejuvenation powers. The healers’ powers as well as his own were not powerful enough to cure such a violent virus,” he told her.

  “So he sought only to strengthen an empowerment he already possessed in order to save the prince’s life?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He grinned.

  “Why wasn’t this explained to the guards on duty in the vault that night?” the pinch-face man asked.

  “There wasn’t time, sir!” he exclaimed.

  “So, instead, he just chose to use his empowerments on his trusting and loyal Guard,” O’Brien spat.

  “There wasn’t time for anything else! The boy was already comatose, and King Wells barely made it in time to save him as it was!” he elaborated fiercely.

  “Yes, I realize that from the healers’ reports, but are you sure about that? Couldn’t he have implored the guards to trust him and follow his command without question? Could this have been a better course of action and possibly even more time-efficient?” O’Brien questioned.

  Xavier saw his father’s shoulders slump, and he realized that Father O’Brien and the pinch-faced man had broached upon an issue futile to argue against. Ephraim realized it as well for he looked to Jeremiah for guidance, but receiving none he remained silent.

  “Are there any further questions?” O’Brien asked confidently, and when there weren’t any, Ephraim was excused from the witness stand.

  The rest of the trial didn’t go any better. Timmins Clarke gave a very angry and biased testimony that made Jeremiah appear to be some kind of warmonger. He obviously had some kind of vendetta against the king, and Xavier chalked him up with the list of people who couldn’t be trusted.

  Finally, after all the testimonies were heard, Father O’Brien looked down at Jeremiah in something just short of delight. “King Wells, is there anything you have to say on your behalf before we close all discussion and retire into an executive session?”

  His father slowly stood, looking humble, which bothered Xavier for some reason. “Yes, Mister Chairman. I admit that with thoughts to recourse, I willingly and knowingly broke the Codes. My only defense is that my son was dying, and when I was presented with a means of saving him, I did what any father would have done; I proceeded with a vengeance. I accept, willingly, and without threat of retribution, any verdict and penalty the High Council decides to render.” Jeremiah sat down and Dublin immediately began whispering in his ear.

  For the next thirty minutes, the Council, red faced and short-tempered, discussed the facts and testimony as the gallery and Jeremiah looked on.

  “Okay, Okay!” Yaman snapped. “There’s no sense in rehashing through all of this again. Call for a vote, O’Brien.”

  Father O’Brien glared at Yaman, but finally he called for the vote. “All who find King Jeremiah Xavier Wells IV guilty of infracting Code 1B, the use of empowerments with undue cause against a subordinate by a person of political power, indicate by raising your right hand.”

  Xavier watched with trepidation as slowly all five hands rose. Jeremiah didn’t even look up.

  “Let the record show the High Council finds King Wells guilty by a vote of five to zero. Now, to the next charge, all who find King Jeremiah Xavier Wells IV guilty of infracting Code 20, the unlawful use of the Clavis de Rex for personal gain please indicate by raising your right hand.”

  Xavier wasn’t surprised to see Governor Yaman’s and Father O’Brien’s hands go up first. The pinch-faced man looked apprehensively at Father O’Brien before looking at Xavier. Then he smiled, and Xavier no longer felt distrustful of him. The man turned back to O’Brien and shook his head ever so slightly. O’Brien didn’t look happy.

  “L…Let the record show the High Council finds King Wells n…not guilty with a vote of three to two.” The gallery erupted in cheers and yells.

  “Order! Order!” O’Brien boomed above the crowd. Slowly, the people grew quiet again. “May I remind the gallery that this is an executive session and comments from the crowd are forbidden? If you cannot contain yourselves, I will clear this courtroom! Now,” O’Brien began, returning his attention back to the Council. “Marcus, according to statute, what are the possible sentences that can be enforced here?”

  The pinch-faced man opened a large maroon, leather-bound book in front of him. After a moment of regarding the book in silence, he looked back to the Council. “According to the judicial guides, we have several choices of recourse in this situation: suspension of duties up to a year, banishment, royal caning, imprisonment from a month to ten years, house arrest up to a year, and/or probation,” Marcus stated.

  Xavier felt the blood drain from his face and leaned toward Spencer. “He still might have to go to jail?” he squeaked.

  Spencer patted his hand reassuringly. “I don’t think it will come to that. Those are just all the possible choices of punishment for his crime. Your father didn’t severely or permanently injure anyone. So I’m sure he’ll get a lesser penalty.”

  “I think we can immediately rule out imprisonment and banishment,” Governor Bracus declared. “No one was permanently harmed.”

  “I agree,” Lana Applegate replied.

  “I move that we rule out imprisonment and banishment as possible recourses,” Governor Bracus announced formally.

  “I second that motion,” Lana blurted.

  “Okay, any discussion?” O’Brien stated, and there wasn’t any. “All right then, all in favor of the motion on the floor signify by raising your right hand.” The vote was nearly unanimous. Everyone but Governor Yaman raised their hands in agreement. “Let the record show the motion passed four to one.”

  “I move that the sentence for King Wells for the said crime be a royal caning,” Governor Yaman called out.

  Instantly there was another loud outburst from the crowd, and Xavier looked around puzzled.

  “Order! Order!” O’Brien shouted. “Guards, clear the courtroom! No one is to remain unless they are somehow directly connected to this case.”

  The guards swept the crowd from the courtroom, leaving only a dozen or so people.

  “Now,” O’Brien continued, “we have a motion on the floor. Do we have a second?” There was no response. “Okay, I’ll second the motion. Is there any discussion?”

  “It’s preposterous!” Bracus called out. “A royal caning? Isn’t that a bit barbaric?”

  “Would you rather call for a suspension from duties? I don’t think the kingdom could tolerate Sire Wells away from his duties at a time such as this! And you can’t possibly expect him to get off with just probation?” Yaman barked.

  “Yes, I had expected probation!” Bracus bellowed, standing. “Jeremiah Wells has always been and still is a superb king, who simply made an error in judgment while attempting to save his son’s life! Tell me, which of us might not have made the same mistake if we had been in his shoes!”

  “He still used his powers against his subordinates, Bracus!” Yaman yelled back.

  “Gentlemen,” Father O’Brien interrupted, “a shouting match will not solve a difference of opinions. Let’s call for the vote. All in favor of the motion signify by raising your right hand.”

  Yaman’s hand shot up, of course. O’Brien raised his hand as well, staring at Jeremiah with vindication. Both Applegate and Bracus sat back in their seats with their arms folded across their chests and muttered, “Nay.”

  So, it all came down to the pinch-faced man, Marcus. He seemed to be wavering from Xavier’s good guy list. He looked at the ugly red scar on Timmins�
�� arm and then to Henrick, whose leg had been fractured in several places during the altercation and still wore a brace while the bones finished the healing process. Slowly, Marcus’ hand joined Yaman’s and O’Brien’s.

  “Oh, Jesus,” Spencer muttered.

  “What? What does it mean?” Xavier hissed, but Spencer didn’t answer.

  “The motion passes three to two. King Wells, please rise,” the priest ordered, and Jeremiah stood with his shoulders straight and proud. “You have been charged and convicted of a Code 1B infraction and are hereby sentenced to a royal caning to be administered two weeks from this day at noon in the Center Square. Until then, you are released under your own recognizance. This hearing is adjourned.”

  Jeremiah turned and shook Dublin’s hand. “We’ll appeal, Jer,” Dublin said quietly.

  “No. I said I’d accept their ruling and I will,” he told Dublin.

  “But, Jer, a royal caning?” he hissed.

  Jeremiah gave him a feeble smile. “Well, at least my critics can’t say I got off lightly, can they? Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take my boy home and spend some much-needed quality time with him.” He didn’t give Dublin another chance to argue as he turned and went to Xavier. “Come on, boy. Let’s go home.” He grinned, lifting him into his arms and carrying him home.

  Chapter 21

  Fallen

  The afternoon following the trial, physical therapists came to the palace to begin Xavier’s therapy.

  “Now, sire, we’ll come every afternoon to work with the boy, but his recovery will be more successful if you’ll help him with these exercises each morning and once again in the evening,” the male therapist told him, handing him a pamphlet.

  “Not a problem. I’ll see to it that he does the extra sessions,” Jeremiah responded as he flipped through the booklet.

  “Good. Now, let me show you how the exercises are to be done,” the therapist continued, leading the king over to where his female partner had already begun working with Xavier on leg stretches.

  “Now, it’s very important that he stretches before he engages in any physical therapy exercise. Jane is doing that now.”

  He watched and listened as the therapists demonstrated and explained each exercise thoroughly. The boy wasn’t able to do more than four or five repetitions of each exercise, and when the therapists left an hour later, Xavier fell back into his bed exhausted.

  “Rest up. We’ll go through the routine again this evening,” Jeremiah told him as he strode toward the door.

  “What? You’ve got to be kidding!” he blurted at his father’s retreating back.

  He turned and smiled. “No, I’m not. You will do the extra sessions religiously and without fail, son.”

  It wasn’t long before Xavier discovered just how devoted his father was to overseeing the additional therapy sessions. In fact, he was quite relentless and overbearing.

  On one such morning, Jeremiah charged into Xavier’s room full of energy and enthusiasm. “Okay, sleepy head. Wake up! It’s time for your morning exercises!” he announced, sweeping the curtains aside and flooding the room with light.

  Xavier sat up blinking viciously at the sudden brightness. “Now?” he grumbled.

  “Yes, son, now,” his father answered as he crossed the room and pulled away the covers. Xavier groaned a protest. “Now, we’ll have none of that, boy. You’ll recover faster if you do your exercises as the therapists suggested.”

  Ten minutes later, the king was stretched out on the floor next to the prince coaching him through the grueling exercises. “Come on, son! Last leg lift!” he urged.

  “I’m trying,” he growled as he strained to lift his right leg. Shakily it rose a few inches before dropping back to the floor.

  “Good! Now, five more!” he ordered.

  “Stop it!” Xavier bellowed, bursting into tears from frustration. “Stop it, Dad! I can’t do anymore. I can’t! It’s too hard.”

  “I know it’s hard, son. It’s not supposed to be easy, but you have to push yourself to do more each time so your legs will regain their strength. You want to play rugby this spring, don’t you?” his father challenged.

  “I’d settle for being able to walk without collapsing,” he mumbled grumpily but continued with the leg lifts.

  As much as Xavier resented his father’s pushing, the extra therapy sessions paid off. In a week, he could go on short walks without stumbling and staggering. By the middle of the second week, although he tired easily and became dizzy if he exerted himself, he was able to maneuver up and down steps. As the therapy exercises continued, he grew stronger and stronger. Father and son were so focused on his recovery that it was easy to forget about the sentencing that would be administered the next day. However, by dinnertime, the pending punishment came into focus.

  “Son, we need to discuss tomorrow,” Jeremiah started, leaning back in his chair. He had hardly touched his food, Xavier noticed.

  “Yeah,” he whispered, losing his appetite.

  “I’m not sure you should be there,” he told him.

  “What? Why? We’re family! We should be there for each other no matter what, Dad. No matter what!” he countered.

  “Son,” Jeremiah hissed softly, looking away. “Do you understand what my punishment will be?”

  “It doesn’t matter! I want to be there for you. You’d do the same for me,” he responded.

  “Xavier, do you understand what a royal caning is?” he repeated stoutly.

  “No.”

  His father’s gaze dropped before he answered, “A royal caning is a public whipping.”

  His eyes widened, and he asked quietly, “They’ll hit you?”

  “Yes, son. But it’s more than that. It can be quite brutal; it will be difficult to watch. Are you sure? Are you sure you still want to go? I won’t forbid you, but you’ve got to understand it won’t be a pleasant sight.”

  No, Xavier wasn’t sure, but he nodded all the same. “Positive, Father.”

  The next day, Loren and Ephraim entered the residence wearing the Royal Guard dress uniforms. Both men looked at their king with strained, somber expressions.

  “Sire? You need to change,” Ephraim noted softly, handing him a white linen robe.

  Without a word, Jeremiah stood and took the garment from his general.

  “Jer…” Loren began.

  “No, Loren,” Jeremiah interrupted simply. “I know what you and Ephraim are planning, and I forbid you to go through with it. There can’t be any favoritism. The High Council will be watching for it, especially from the two of you.”

  “But, Jer,” Ephraim started.

  “General Hardcastle, that’s an order! The Council will replace you, and I want… no, I need my friends there. I can bear anything so long as it’s you doing it!”

  “What?” Xavier hissed. “You mean, they’re going to be the ones beating you?”

  “Yes, son. The caning of a king is always administered by selected members of the Premier Royal Guard.”

  “But…but, you’re Dad’s friends! How could you? How could you be a part of all this?” he yelled, and the men tucked their heads.

  “No, Xavier. Stop it,” his father corrected him, grabbing his shoulders and turning him. “Look at me, son. It’s their duty, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. If it were you, would you rather have strangers punishing you or people who care about you, your friends?”

  Xavier paused before answering miserably, “My friends.”

  Jeremiah gave him a weak smile. “That’s how I feel, son, and I don’t want you to be angry with Loren or Ephraim. They are only doing what I’ve ordered them to do.”

  Xavier nodded slowly, on the verge of bawling. “It’s just like the dream, Dad. This is what my dream was trying to tell me, that this would happen.”

  Jeremiah knelt, pulling his son into his arms. “I know, son. But, I promise everything’s going to be all right.”

  Xavier began to cry then. He was afraid, afraid f
or his dad, afraid to witness the brutality toward his father at the hands of his best friends, afraid to see his father anything but strong and right.

  “You know,” his father whispered as he stroked his back. “I’m still not sure this is a good idea. It’s okay if you don’t want to go. You could stay with Rebecca and the other children.”

  “No!” Xavier responded, wiping his eyes and looking at his father with conviction. “I will go with you, Father. I want to be there for you.”

  Jeremiah nodded, patted the boy’s cheek, and stood. “Gentlemen, do we all understand what is to happen today?” he questioned.

  “Yes, sire,” the men responded.

  The late winter air was barely above freezing, but the king showed no signs of being cold as he sauntered down the cobble streets toward the Center Square in the thin linen robe. When Xavier had questioned why they weren’t taking the car, Loren had quietly explained that it was customary for a condemned king to walk to the Center Square as part of his redemption.

  The crowded sidewalks were strangely quiet, but an occasional shout of encouragement would propel from the crowd to offer support to the king. Then the positive air around them changed when a man from the back of the group shouted, “Neo-lover!”

  The king and his generals came to an abrupt halt, whipping their heads in the direction of the insult. At least, Xavier guessed it to be an insult, and judging by Loren and Ephraim’s expressions, his guess wasn’t wrong. The crowd around them erupted into shouts and reprimands, and Ephraim moved aggressively toward the man, but Jeremiah stopped him.

  “No, Ephraim. I need you with me today, not locked up in jail for assault,” Jeremiah whispered. Fuming, the general nodded and simply glared at the man who had hurled the insult.

  “What’s a neo?” Xavier asked.

  His father hesitated before answering. “Neo is slang for neophyte, a religious term that means beginner or novice. For many years, the empowered society called common, average humans neophytes. It’s a universal view in our world that common humans are the beginnings of our race. However, a group of empowered citizens began to view all neophytes, or commons, as lesser beings. They believed that because of our abilities, we were meant to conquer and enslave them. So the word developed into the racial slur neo.”