“But whom do I mean to fool? If it were not me, then fate would have some other minion. And no matter what position a man is in, he is still the cause of pain. The rich man who sits in his palace – while at its gate an entire family starves – is he not guilty of active murder, more than just passive? And the nobleman who in his gluttony eats until he is sick, does he not sin by taking food from a hungry child? No, I am not so shamed on the pages of the Book of Life, for every man is a concentration of sin, and fate merely dilutes it with power and wealth, that it can be spread about more easily. Guilt is guilt and sin sin. Does it matter if it is passive or active? And death is still death, in spite of the means by which it comes, or the life that lived before it.”
Gylain brushed his hand over his face and brought it to his chin, where he played with his beard and looked at the wall. His face was a windless day.
“Fate must be obeyed, and certain things are to be done, but woe to them by whom they come about .”
As he spoke, his fists clenched and his face grew into a storm. He arose and strode to the mirror that graced the opposing wall, looking deeply at himself.
“If it was not for me to give my soul to God, than how was it mine to keep it from him? If some are saved by grace, than by what are others condemned? How is it that while all humanity is held precariously over a lake of fire, only a few are plucked from it and taken to paradise? As he says, revenge is God’s; for he would keep the best things from us. Fate and destiny? Salvation and condemnation? Hate and love? Are they not the same thing: different in persons, same in essence? But what difference does it make, for we all have pain and the devil has us all.”
Gylain struck at the mirror in his exasperation and fled the room, entering the Great Hall. It was being prepared for the opulent feast which would greet the Queen of Saxony, Cybele. Her arrival was expected at any time during the next week, though the exact date was unknown.
Jonathan Montague was just entering the throne room to consult with his lord. His face was as emotionless as ever, his spirit as evil. Gylain grimaced.
“What a wretch,” he mumbled, “For he actually enjoys the wicked which he does.”
“Hail, my lord,” and Montague bowed on his left knee before the throne.
“What is it? Speak quickly.”
“Of course, my lord,” returned Montague, “I am beginning to raise the defenses of the castle in preparation for the queen’s visit. Would you have us transfer Alfonzo and Celestine to the basement dungeons?”
“I understand your fears, Montague. For the situation on the mainland is precarious for us: France would gladly be our enemy and only Saxony prevents them. If the rebels capture the queen, France would be with them in an instant. Yet it is not so simple: the rebels have not the power.”
“Have I not heard from your very mouth that the king has rejoined their ranks? He wields much power and influence, both here and in Europe.”
“You fool, the king is dead, his head cut clean from his filthy body. The king that I speak of is his son: young and inexperienced. Influence comes with strength, as does morality. He has nothing in Europe.”
“My lord, I fought him in the forest. He was mighty, and even the trees respected him. I was only able to overcome him when his comrades were defeated and he surrounded.”
“Perhaps; we will see before long. But do what you will: I leave the defenses to you.”
“Very well; we will not be vulnerable. Yet Alfonzo claims he cannot legally be moved without your permission, as he is a prisoner of the crown.”
“Do you now care for legalities, or is it that you do not wish to anger me again? Have I grown so soft, Jonathan? Move them to the Devil’s Door with a heavy guard. Old Lucifer himself will not be able to take them alive.”
“Yes, my lord. As for the castle defenses, I will put men heavily in this hall and on the outer walls, leaving the inner courtyard without more than a watch. They can only sneak in, so we must stop them before they can enter.”
“Any word from the Elite Guards?”
“They seem to have disappeared. It is my belief, however, that they went into the forest after they executed Clifford, as is their wont – to chase the rebels.”
“They will be sorely missed. You may go now, Montague.”
“Farewell, my lord.” Montague bowed once more and left the hall. The servants avoided his fiery eyes as he passed them with his deliberate stride.
Gylain remained silently on his throne for a few moments, playing with his beard. He was broken from his reverie only by the sound of bold, heavy footsteps approaching the raised dais on which his throne stood. He turned his head to cry out at whoever disturbed him. Yet when he saw who it was, he said nothing.
“Yes, Gylain. It is I.”
The speaker was a swarthy man in late middle age, with a thick beard, uncombed hair, and a ghastly scar running down the side of his weather-beaten face. He was dressed in rags, bleeding steadily from the stomach, and still bound with iron shackles on the wrists and ankles. His figure was frightening and his disposition evil, though strictly controlled by the dictates of reason. His laugh was thunder, ringing out across the Great Hall like a flood in the desert.
Gylain almost jumped from his throne.
“Nicholas Montague, you have returned at last.”
“Yes, Gylain: in flesh.”
“And in blood,” Gylain pointed to his bleeding.
“Pain is necessary, death is forever.”
“How true. But what can this mean, Nicholas? That William has returned as well?”
“Yes: I barely escaped, while the others were caught and hung in the forest.”
“They were worthless, anyhow.”
“Yes, but suffering endears men to one another.”
“Forget them, for we have work to do. The arrival of the Admiral is unexpected, yet not uninvited. It is now the end with which we struggle, but let the deluge come, I say: of blood and water. This is the time when God’s tyranny will be overthrown.”
Nicholas smiled with half his mouth and frowned with the other. His eyes opened for an instant, and the flames of revenge which burned within his head leapt out. He slammed his clenched fist into the heavy oak table beside him, unable to control himself. It was only by inflicting pain upon himself that he could control the intense passion which drove him, and retain the mental pedantry which he worshiped. The table cracked loudly, split in two, and fell to the floor.
“I have heard that Alfonzo is captured.”
“By your brother,” Gylain answered.
“Then I will go to him, and rebuke William’s mockings.”
“You will beat him?”
“No,” he paused. “I will do more than that. Where is Jonathan?”
Chapter 26
Meanwhile, Alfonzo was no longer bed-ridden from his severe beating, and was steadily improving. He was still weak, however, and sat across from the window. Celestine joined him, her aging face still retaining the comeliness it had known in youth. This, coupled with the poignant maturity age had given her, made her both wise and beautiful; a siren in beauty, an angel in wisdom. No words passed between them and none were needed. Alfonzo was a patient man, but the present circumstances stretched him to weakness. He could sit for only a few moments before he found himself wandering to the window again, to search the horizon for signals.
Once more he repeated his trip to the window, Celestine watching him closely with overflowing eyes.
“Come quickly, my love!” he cried, “There is a signal from the edge of the forest.”
Celestine arose and ran to him in excitement. He was not mistaken, for there, twenty yards past the wall, rose a puff of smoke. Yet it was not the smoke that was the signal: the rebels were too wary for such a thing. Rather, there was a flashing light – a mirror reflecting the sun – pulsating a hundred yards to the left of the smoke.
“Can you understand them?” she asked.
“Yes, it is from Blaine. Clifford made it safe
ly to the city, almost: he says Clifford was captured by the Elite Guard, but then rescued by,” he paused to wait the signals, “The king and Ivona Milada!” Alfonzo could not look away from the flashing light, for fear of missing the message, but Celestine could see the excitement that flashed across his face.
“They are working on our escape, and hope it will be soon. We should try to be transferred to the Devil’s Door; or, if that is not possible, to Gylain’s quarters and take the passage to the anteroom behind his throne, shortly after we see the Queen of Saxony arriving.”
“What have they to do with her?” Celestine asked, casting her face to the floor as if in shame.
“I do not know, but we must trust them. Blaine can see what we cannot.”
“Ivona is safe now?”
“Yes, though I am uncertain of her. She was a wise counselor to her father, and an anchor amidst passions. She symbolized the cause of the rebellion. But now that Milada’s life is endangered by traitors, she is not there to protect him. Yet I know why she fled, and she is justified.”
“Love is a powerful thing, dear Alfonzo, of man or of God. It is not to be despised.”
“No, nor even the love of woman.” He held her close and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Celestine, time does not dampen emotions, as I feared. I love you only more.”
“No, time does not bury passion,” rang out a thick voice from the doorway. “For my hatred of you has only grown more intense as the years pass, Alfonzo.”
Alfonzo turned, his figure silhouetted against the window, his stature without sign of weakness.
“Nicholas Montague, you have returned. But love conquers hate, and righteousness wickedness.”
Alfonzo approached the swarthy ruffian with outstretched arms. Nicholas let him come until he was but an arm’s length away. Then he knocked him over the head with the broadside of his sword. Alfonzo fell limply to the ground.
At that moment, a powerful voice yelled to the guards outside the door, “Who gave you permission enter their prison?”
“I did, my brother,” cried Nicholas.
“What? Can it be possible? Nicholas, my long lost brother!”
“Yes, little John. You are well?”
“As good as ever,” Jonathan Montague walked into the room and embraced his brother.
They were affable and friendly. But then Jonathan saw Alfonzo stretched out on the floor. He turned sour, his countenance drowned in hatred. He gave the rebel’s limp body a forceful kick.
“I see you have found my plaything. Will we torture him?” Jonathan laughed to his brother, in high spirits once more.
“Yes, of course, little one. It will be just like the old days.”
“Ah, yes, the old days. Guards, carry him to the game room for us.” Jonathan turned once more to his older brother, “If only father could see us now. I wonder what has happened to him.”
“We killed him, do you not remember?”
“Of course, where was my mind?” and the tower echoed with their sinister laughs as they carried their prey off to their torture chambers.
Later, in the Devil’s Door, Lorenzo’s face danced with rage and his fiery mustache with righteous wrath, his preferred emotion.
“Moses may have filled the Nile with blood, but mark my words, friends: if ever I get my hands on the Montague brothers, I will fill much more than a bloody river!”
“Do not doubt my loyalty,” began Vahan Lee in his veritable French accent, “But it is my belief that they have given him a great honor. For when their foul deeds overtake them – and the island of Atilta is once more in the hands of the people – Alfonzo will only be honored more for what he now endures.”
“It is easy enough to spew forth such rigmarole about honor, when it is not you who has been beaten. Perhaps you would like to have the same done to you?”
“Silence, Lorenzo,” whispered Alfonzo through his pain. “Vahan is optimistic, and I am with him. Anger and vengeance do not make good bedfellows, dear priest.”
“I have neither bed nor bedfellows. Yet I understand your meaning, and I acquiesce to your superior wisdom.”
“Do not speak, my love, only rest. You must be well enough to walk when the time for our deliverance comes.” Celestine held her husband’s head in her hands, comforting him in his distress. She raised her face to the two other men who were imprisoned with them, “Good old Clifford made it safely to the forest band, and the king is with them there. We will be rescued soon enough.”
“Ah, the king,” sighed Vahan Lee, “Little did I know when he saved me from those bandits – no offense, Alfonzo – and then from the mysterious thrower of the acorns who wished to mistreat me.”
Alfonzo laughed at the silly man, as did the others.
“I think I know who threw those acorns,” Lorenzo said.
“Who? You must tell me, so I can be wary of him.”
“The king!”
Vahan Lee blushed at the realization, but soon recovered enough to laugh at himself in good-spirits. “I suppose I am a better spy than a woodsman.”
“And a better talker than a spy!” cried Lorenzo. “You tell that Frencher king of yours to hurry up his army and help us throw off Gylain! I just wish I was with Milada now, with the danger he is in. You are sure you heard Ivona was safe?”
“I am,” answered Celestine.
Prior Lorenzo savored those words, just as he had the dozen times he had already heard them. “Ivona safe at last. What goodness it is, what joy it will be to see her again.”
“Yes,” Alfonzo said, “There will be many joyful reunions when this ordeal is over. Even Celestine will be rejoined with her father.”
She smiled softly, as if to herself. “Why do you say that, dear Alfonzo? Can there be any hope of his return?”
“Of course: Nicholas Montague was with him on his ship, as prisoner. He still bore the marks of imprisonment when he came to us. If he came back, then your father must have, as well.”
“But if Nicholas had succeeded in mutiny once more?”
“The ship is not in the harbor, and Nicholas made no triumphant entry, which his vainglorious mind would have done had he the opportunity. It is my belief that the Admiral and some of his men came ashore to see how things went, and when he was gone Nicholas escaped. None of his men returned, only he did.”
“Could it finally be, after all these years, that we will be together again in peace and safety?”
Before anyone could respond, they heard the creaking of the door as it swung open.
“See to him, and be sure he is not harmed!” It was Gylain’s voice, shaking with anger.
“My lord,” the voice of Nicholas Montague could be heard, “He will survive – but with greater pain – if he is not treated by the doctor. Would you ruin our work?”
“Silence, fool! Who told you to torture him? Do you think you are God, that you can take a man’s life only to please your sadistic nature? There are some deeds which are ordained by fate, but to add to the condemnation that has already been thrust upon us is folly, sheer folly!”
“Very well, my lord,” Montague humbly said, obviously in disagreement but also in obedience. His long stride could be heard as he climbed the stairs of the tower.
“Make sure he is well, doctor, and relieve his suffering as much as possible without letting them escape.”
“Is there a message my lord would have me tell them?”
“No! I was never here.” Gylain’s footsteps also climbed the stairs, and in a moment the doctor came down to their cell.
“How is he coming along?” he asked Celestine.
“He’ll recover,” she murmured, thinking of the paradox that was Gylain, “He’ll recover.”
Chapter 27
“And tell them to reach the Devil’s Door if possible. If not, to sneak into Gylain’s quarters and take the tunnel to the anteroom behind his throne,” Blaine Griffith said to the man who signaled Alfonzo.
“It is done,” the man said, �
��I have told him everything.”
“Good, and here comes his reply, ‘Will do.’ That is Alfonzo; he still lives.”
A dozen rebels stood around the base of the tree in which the signaler was perched, among them Willard, Horatio, Ivona, Clifford, and Blaine. As they waited for the man to climb down, Willard spoke to old Clifford.
“Let us hear your plan, then, Clifford.”
“Of course, my lord. We all know the Queen of Saxony is due at the castle in the next week. But, because of the weather, it is expected she will be late. Gylain wishes to find favor in her eyes, and is being extra careful in protecting the castle. As you have seen, there are men on all the outer walls: it is impossible to enter without help from within, and we do not have the strength for a direct assault.
“For part of the mission, we can use the secret tunnel. Yet there is no direct link between the dungeon and the Great Hall, although they are part of the same tower. Instead, the dungeon opens to the courtyard, which in turn leads to the hall. It is my suggestion, then, that we disguise Ivona as the Queen of Saxony, and you as her knight. Thus, from the Great Hall, you can distract the guards from the dungeon and courtyard, allowing those who came in through the tunnel to rejoin you with the prisoners and make the escape.”
“But Gylain and the Queen of Saxony were once lovers,” Ivona said. “I am young, and she must be fifty.”
“That was the old queen, Casandra. Gylain has never seen Cybele.”
“It is possible, on that end,” Blaine said, “But where are we to get the proper retinue for a powerful queen? We do not have the horses or armor for such a guard.”
“But you forget we have taken twenty suits of armor with horses to match from our fallen enemies. We can redye them and paint a new insignia. Only Willard remains unequipped with a proper suit of armor.”
The Forgotten King Page 15
