“Go now, John Bartram,” Madoc said. “Let me remind you that you are still a guest in my hall.”
My father glowered, but he came with us. Outside the hall, he milled around the green, waiting. We waited with him, and I wondered if I should report what I had seen Andrew do the previous night. Before I could decide, Andrew emerged from the hall, heading toward our cottage.
My father stepped into his path, blocking his passage. “What happened in there?”
“Please let me pass, sir.” Andrew’s eyes were red, as though he’d been crying.
“Not until you tell me what happened. What did you say to Madoc?”
Andrew tried to walk around, but my father stepped back in his way.
“What did you do, Andrew?”
“That isn’t your concern,” Andrew said.
“This expedition is my concern!” My father shook a fist in Andrew’s face. “What? Were you trying to make a deal for Marin? Trying to ally Madoc with the French?”
“You’re insane.”
My father slapped him. “What did you say, half-breed?”
Andrew touched his reddening cheek. And he punched my father in the face.
I stepped toward him as he stumbled backward. Jane gasped, while Mr. Faries and Mr. Godfrey rushed to restrain Andrew.
My father spat blood. “If you ever touch me again —”
“What?” Andrew threw off the Society members and opened his arms wide. “What will you do? You want to know what Madoc said to me? You want to know why I’m here? It’s because these are my mother’s people! She came from this place. Madoc sent her out to learn about all of you, and to do that, she became an interpreter. And out there, she married my father, Carondawanna, and she bore me. She couldn’t come home before she died, so I came for her, to lay something of her to rest in the Annwyn graveyard among her kin.”
I noticed the locket was gone from around his neck, and it all made sense. That was what he had left in the middle of the night to do. There wasn’t anything sinister or secretive about it. It was a moment Andrew had simply wanted to have in private.
“I was right,” my father said. “You’ve been lying to us since the moment you came aboard our ship.”
“No, Father,” I said. “You were wrong. You accused him of being a spy for the French. You accused him of dropping messages for Marin, when it was Phineas, all along. You were wrong about that, and you were wrong about Andrew.”
“But I was right not to trust him!” His outburst carried across the green.
Mr. Faries and Mr. Godfrey shook their heads. They stepped away from Andrew, and though they didn’t apologize to him, they looked at him in a way that expressed sympathy.
Andrew nodded to them. “Since I want to be honest with all of you, there’s something else you should know.”
“And what is that?” my father asked.
“Madoc offered me a drink from the chalice,” he said.
“The chalice?” Mr. Godfrey asked. “They offered you a drink? What does that mean?”
“It means they were offering me a place here. They asked me to come home.”
He left then, returning to the cottage.
Mr. Faries followed after him, ushering Jane with him, but as they passed my father, Mr. Faries put a hand on his shoulder.
“You should listen to your son, John.” And then they were gone.
Mr. Godfrey muttered to himself, “The chalice …” and shambled away, leaving me alone with my father on the green.
I took a step toward him. “Father, I —”
“You listen to me, William.” His voice was strained, on the verge of breaking. “You said you were wrong to want to be like me. That is the prerogative of every son. But before you judge me, know this. I believe as I do for a reason.” He looked at the ground near my feet. “You never knew your grandfather, with whom you share a name. He was a good man. An industrious, honest, and charitable ma —” His voice failed. He brought his fist up and pressed it hard against his lips.
I waited.
He cleared his throat. “He was a beloved father to me. When I was eleven years old, he left me in the care of my own grandparents in Pennsylvania, and he moved to North Carolina to establish a farm. I never saw him again. On the twenty-second day of September, Indians raided his farm and brutally murdered him in cold blood. My stepmother, and my precious younger brother and sister were taken captive. It is only by God’s mercy that they were returned to us. But my father —” He pounded his chest, tears falling from his eyes. “My father was taken from me by those savages!”
I didn’t know what to say. I had never seen my father in such pain. He had always seemed invincible. Impregnable. But in that moment, he was open and completely vulnerable, and I loved him for it.
“Father, I didn’t know.”
“Your mother didn’t want you to know until you were older.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
He nodded. “I am what I am. Perhaps now you understand.”
I did understand him better. But that did not mean I agreed with him. Andrew had not killed my grandfather, and I couldn’t hate him for it, even if my father did.
“Is there anything you would like to say to me, son?”
I didn’t know what he expected or wanted to hear. I wouldn’t — couldn’t — apologize, because I still believed everything I’d said. So I decided to give his own words back to him.
“To err is human, Father. To forgive, divine.”
We didn’t speak after that. The afternoon waned, and the village prepared for battle. Rhys formed ranks with his men at the southern edge of town. The warriors all went shirtless, armed with spears, javelins, swords, bows, and a few rifles. They had covered themselves in a nitrous ointment that made their skin shine and their tattoos writhe. The sight of them frightened me, but not as much as the thought of what was to come. I was preparing to climb up the light cannon with Mr. Faries when my father called to me.
“Come away from there, son.”
I faced him. “I’m going to help Mr. Faries in the battle.”
“No. I want you and Jane to go to the woods with the villagers.”
He wanted me to run and hide. If I was honest, I wanted that, too, but I refused to give in to my fear. “I’m staying to fight, Father. Mr. Faries needs my help with the light cannon.”
“Someone else can assist him.”
“No. I’m staying.”
“I can remove you by force.”
“And as soon as you leave me, I’ll just come back.”
He seemed to be struggling inside.
“You can’t keep me away. This is my choice, Father. Not yours.”
“I promised your mother I would keep you safe.”
“And I promised her I would find my own path.”
Madoc appeared on the front line. Unlike his warriors, he wore armor. An ancient shirt of chain mail, and a helmet that covered his nose and his cheeks but left openings around his eyes and mouth. He carried a bronze shield like those we’d polished, a sword, and around him a mantle of strength.
“Any sign of the French?” he asked.
“No,” my father said.
“Well, let them come. You’ve ignited coals in me I thought long dead and cold, John Bartram.” He turned to me. “Where will you be during the battle, Billy?”
I looked at my father. “I’ll be in the light cannon, assisting Mr. Faries.”
“Good lad,” Madoc said. “Is everything in order with Mr. Kinnersley?”
“I believe so,” my father said.
“Excellent. May we all meet well on the other side.” He marched away.
What he’d said had more than one meaning. I turned back to my father, the reality of what was about to happen just now occurring to me. This would be a battle of life and death. I might not see him again. “Where will you be, Father?”
“Assisting Mr. Kinnersley with his electrical fire.” He shook his head. “I’d never have guessed
that one day I would utter that phrase.”
We chuckled together, more than we probably would have under different circumstances. I wanted to make peace with him. But I didn’t know how, and there didn’t seem to be time.
“Will you be safe there?” I asked.
He nodded. “I’ll meet you on the other side.”
I nodded back to him, and with nothing more to say, I climbed the ladder. But halfway up I shouted back down to him, “Make sure Jane goes to the forest!” He saluted me, and I continued up to the narrow platform. Mr. Faries was already there, tinkering.
“Ah, Billy. Good to have you.” He looked at his arm in its sling.
“I’m here to assist you, sir.”
“When the battle starts, you’ll aim, and I’ll fire. Between us, we’ll burn Marin to a crisp.”
Below, Andrew appeared at the edge of the village. He had taken off his shirt and carried one of the Welsh spears. Someone had drawn tattoos across his skin, and he looked like one of Madoc’s warriors as he took his place among them.
I turned to the south. Out in the fields, I saw small ponds and puddles, patches of shallow water reflecting the blue of the sky. Mr. Kinnersley had flooded the low ground and turned it into one big water trough, through which his trapped lightning was supposed to burn. He was down there somewhere, safely perched up in a tree with his Leyden jar, wires connecting him to the water, waiting until the right moment to shock an entire army. If it worked. There had been no way to test it first.
The Leyden jar had but one charge.
Mr. Faries saw them first.
“The French!” he shouted, waving his good arm. “The French are here!”
I glimpsed them then, among the trees. They came from the open land to the south, avoiding the mountains, no doubt trusting in their superior numbers to obtain an easy victory. They stopped short of the flood plain and sent two emissaries ahead, one of them waving a white flag.
Madoc waited for them beneath the light cannon, safe on dry land, his armor glinting in the sun. Behind him, the glistening Welshmen leered. They presented a frightening image, even to me, and the white flag trembled in the emissary’s hand. He actually dropped it as he approached, snatching it up so quickly it seemed he expected to be shot full of arrows the moment he was no longer holding it. Madoc’s men laughed at him.
“I’ve read that barbarians laugh in the face of death!” the emissary cried. “And now I observe that to be true.”
A cold silence fell over the Welshmen.
He drew near enough that I recognized him. He was the same man who had come with Marin to threaten and negotiate with Major Washington back at the Forks. And the man next to him …
“Mr. Colden!” I shouted.
Mr. Faries leaned outward. “Cadwallader?”
Mr. Colden looked up, his face battered and bruised. “Billy?”
“Silence,” the Frenchmen said, and Mr. Colden flinched.
“You threaten us under the banner of the white flag?” Madoc asked.
“No, Prince Madoc,” the emissary said. “I come with terms for your surrender to Captain Paul Marin.” The emissary presented a sealed scroll.
Mr. Colden was alive.
I wanted to run shouting the news to Jane and my father, but I couldn’t.
Mr. Colden raised his head, but his shoulders slumped in defeat. His hands were chained behind his back, his clothes were unkempt, and it was obvious they had treated him poorly. His eyes sought me out, then looked to either side of me. He seemed to be studying the tower. His eyes landed on the bronze shields, followed down the line of lenses to the end of the cannon, and then opened wide. His shoulders rose a little then, and his lips formed a barely concealed smile. He knew what this was.
“I do not even need to read that.” Madoc looked at the scroll without taking it. “I reject his terms.”
“That is unwise, sir.” The emissary looked around. “You are on French soil. Captain Marin does not need to offer you terms at all. He is within his right to simply raze your little village.”
“I do not recognize his claim to this land,” Madoc said. “And if he attempts to drive us from it, he does so to his ruin. There is a reason the Osage name us demons.”
The emissary sneered. “That may have kept you hidden until now. But you are outnumbered, sir. We are the troupes de la marine. And your men here, with your wooden weapons, your … telescope, and your pathetic attempt to flood us out, you have no chance of victory.”
A telescope? Good. Let him keep thinking that.
“But you do not have to take this on my word alone. With me is one of the philosophers, a former companion to those here with you. He has come here with me to reason with you.” He turned to Mr. Colden. “Speak.”
Mr. Colden took a deep breath. “The Frenchman is right. You are outnumbered.”
The emissary nodded along with him.
“But seeing you gathered here” — Mr. Colden raised his voice — “I know you will be victorious! Stand your ground, I say! Stand and fight —”
“English dog!” The emissary struck Mr. Colden so hard the blow knocked him to his knees. The Frenchman spun back toward Madoc. “It matters not what this man says! It is certain you will lose this conflict. But if you turn over the other English philosophers to Captain Marin’s custody, and leave French soil forever, your lives will be spared.”
Marin had to know we no longer had the airship. But he still wanted us.
“Are you finished?” Madoc asked.
The emissary recovered his composure. “Yes.”
“Good.” Madoc removed his helmet. “Now that you have spoken your piece, I will speak mine. And here are my terms for Captain Marin’s surrender to me. He will remove his army from these lands, swearing on his life that no Frenchman will ever return, or we will destroy him. He has awakened the Red Dragon of Wales, and we will rain fire down upon him.”
The emissary’s thin smile lasted only a moment and then vanished. “Then Captain Marin will see you on the field of battle.”
He bowed and returned across the flood plain, waving his white flag high, dragging Mr. Colden with him. I watched Jane’s father go, feeling that I should have done something more for him.
Madoc replaced his helmet. “Are you ready with my dragon, Mr. Faries?”
“We’re ready!” Mr. Faries turned to me. “Bring us around, Billy.”
“But, sir, Mr. Colden —”
“The best way to help him now is to win this battle. Are you with me?”
I tightened my grip on the ropes, and it helped to stop my hands from shaking. “Yes, sir.” I swung us around, aiming the cannon down the flooded fields.
“I’ll fire on your mark,” Mr. Faries said. “Just as we practiced.”
The emissary disappeared into a group of trees. A short time after that, the French soldiers formed up in the forest, in and among the trees. They appeared accustomed to wilderness combat. But that would not help them when the danger flowed beneath their very feet. They began their advance on the village.
“They’re coming,” I said.
“Oh no.” Mr. Faries looked up at the sky, and I followed his gaze.
A heavy bank of clouds appeared to be moving in, deep and wide.
“Without direct sunlight,” Mr. Faries said, “we have no ammunition.”
Which way were the clouds heading? I watched their movement, and they seemed to be coming directly toward us.
Mr. Faries pointed at the trees. “Let’s show them what this telescope can do. Quickly, before we lose our sunlight.”
“But, Mr. Colden —”
“He saw this cannon, Billy. He’ll know to stay clear. Now are you ready?”
“Yes, sir.” I pivoted and turned us, aiming for a distant group of trees on the far side of Mr. Kinnersley’s flood plain, at the backs of the French. If I burned the right places, the flames would drive them forward into the water. “Ready.”
“Then let’s breathe some fire.”
I gave the order.
He pulled the trigger.
Light blasted from the cannon. Frenchmen shouted and scattered from the trees where it struck, shielding their eyes and their faces. The trees burned.
“Again, Billy!”
I repositioned the barrel. “Fire!”
He pulled the trigger.
This time, men burst from the trees with their clothes aflame and threw themselves forward into the floodwaters to extinguish it.
I aimed. “Fire!”
Another hit.
I aimed. “Fire!”
Soon, a line blazed across the fields and woods, just as I had planned, leaving the French without an escape route and pushing them forward.
I aimed. “Fire!”
He pulled the trigger, but the shadow of a cloud fell over us, shuttering the light from our weapon. We stood upon a useless platform, creaking in the wind, and I watched the skies, praying for an opening.
Mr. Faries let go of the trigger. “Let’s hope we did enough. It’s up to Ebenezer now.”
The Welshmen had taken up defensive positions. The bowmen crouched behind a few stone walls and peered from around buildings, ready to fire, but so far, no Frenchman had come within range. The light cannon had stalled them, perhaps frightened them, and hopefully given them second thoughts. They waited, ankle-deep and knee-deep.
“Mr. Colden is down there,” I said.
Mr. Faries pulled a telescope from his coat and stretched it open. “Let us pray he’s behind the fire line, out of the water.”
“What is Mr. Kinnersley waiting for?” I asked.
He peered through the telescope, his other eye pinched shut. “For my signal.”
The French resumed their forward march.
“I see Marin,” Mr. Faries said.
“Is Mr. Colden with him?”
“No.”
The first French soldiers reached firing distance and halted. I could see them loading their rifles in the trees, pouring their powder and ramming their bullets.
“Mr. Faries?”
“Yes, it’s time.” He pulled a red cloth from his pocket and waved it over his head. I saw a matching red handkerchief flap a reply, and then a Welsh runner took off toward Mr. Kinnersley’s position.
The Lost Kingdom Page 22
