Blades of Valor

by Sigmund Brouwer

  Sir William nodded.

  Katherine smiled a tight smile of relief to be alive. There had been little joy and much fear in her heart as they waited for a royal audience, knowing that execution may have easily been the result instead of a mere prison sentence. But they had also gambled on more, something else that Katherine now could have related just as easily as did the knight.

  “Waleran,” Sir William said, “not once, but twice did you rely on knowledge gained from conversations overheard in prison. In Magnus, while you yourself sat with Thomas and me. And in York, next to the earl himself. You used the trick of letting a foe escape, simply to follow. We thought it likely the same ploy would be used again.”

  “You knew I was the king’s chamberlain?”

  Sir William shook his head. “Thomas’s father suspected. He had been traveling England for years as an old man.”

  “No!” Again a flash of fear. “I tell you, he is dead.”

  A tall man walked into the cave from where he waited in the shadows of the entrance.

  “If I am dead,” he replied to Waleran, “then let me be your most persistent nightmare.”

  Waleran moaned. “I thought you dead when we conquered Magnus. Later, I knew you traveled in disguise, but I thought I’d finally beaten you outside York, when Thomas led my soldiers to your campsite.”

  “I am most definitely alive.” The man bowed to Queen Isabella. “Your Majesty.”

  She smiled in return.

  And how could she not help but smile? Katherine thought. For this man is as handsome as his son, with the same hint of mystery and confidence, the same air of gentleness and compassion.

  “Lord Hawkwood,” the queen said, “I am pleased to discover my trust in you was not misplaced.”

  “It was a near thing, was it not? For a moment, you nearly impaled me.”

  Waleran now had his arms huddled around his knees. “I-i-impaled?” he managed to stutter.

  The baby was quiet now, and Queen Isabella turned her attention again to Waleran.

  Katherine caught the instant transition from the warmth directed to Lord Hawkwood to the hatred and cold reserved for Waleran.

  “Lord Hawkwood offered to place his life in my hands. In my royal chambers that dawn, he opened my palm, set the handle of a short dagger upon my skin, closed my fingers over the hilt, and brought my hand up so that the blade touched his throat. He told me if I chose to disbelieve him, I could end his life right there. But if I believed, I was to arrange for a trip into the countryside, as if distraught over the kidnapping, and instead, unknown to King Edward, attend my own son here, while we waited.”

  “For me,” Waleran blurted. “You expected me to arrive.”

  Katherine cleared her throat. “Yes. Thomas shouted at the entrance to this valley. We feared you might not have managed to follow. Then we waited at the river by the abbey, once again giving you time. Finally, we talked loudly in front of the entrance to this very cave. All to lure you inside.”

  Waleran lifted his head. An animal-like gleam, almost insanity, suddenly filled his eyes.

  “My army outside! I may die here, but you cannot escape.”

  “You no longer have an army outside.”

  “We expected you, did we not?” Thomas asked. “Many more than twenty of the finest men of Magnus were hidden in these woods. Your army has long since fallen to ambush during our time in this cave.”

  Fifty-One

  They gathered—the five of them and baby Edward—in the abbey hall that evening.

  Queen Isabella was given the chair closest to the fire. She and the baby were wrapped in blankets, for although it was July, the evening chill in the northern valley had a bite, especially in an abbey hall with a cold stone floor and no luxurious tapestries to slow any drafts.

  Sir William paced the room slowly, still restless after the day’s events, even with Waleran and his army safely captured.

  Lord Hawkwood sat crouched on his knees, poking an iron into the fire to rearrange the burning wood.

  Katherine and Thomas sat next to each other, opposite Queen Isabella.

  They had all gathered here at the request of the queen, who had spent the bulk of the afternoon chatting with the men of Magnus, much to their delight.

  Now, however, Queen Isabella wasted little time in idle conversation.

  “What will draw the remaining Druid leaders to this valley?” The question was asked softly, yet Katherine sensed the steel behind it.

  “Your Majesty?” Lord Hawkwood expressed puzzlement without shifting from his position near the fire.

  “I have agreed to give as many men as you deem necessary to capture all the Druids who arrive in the next weeks, but I wish to know what they seek.”

  Sir William stopped his pacing and stood behind Thomas.

  “I believe it is the book in that cave,” Queen Isabella continued. “And I don’t believe the copy Waleran produced is its equal. Yet you all seek to avoid the subject. I find it both amusing and strange that so much has been revealed about the Druids and so little about yourselves. Merlin’s Immortals.”

  She smiled, but her expression did not diminish the strength of the implied command to tell her all.

  Lord Hawkwood prodded the fire again and did not flinch as sparks shot from a falling log. He took his time to add several more logs, then rose and faced Queen Isabella.

  “You see most of the remaining Immortals here in this room,” he said frankly, “so there is little to add. I myself often lived in hiding, with no choice but to be a man of mystery, playing many roles as I sought to ensure that Thomas would become one of us. And if you ask me to name the others, it would only hurt those who have vowed to serve the king in that same kind of secrecy.”

  Katherine held her breath. Will Queen Isabella press the issue?

  Lord Hawkwood continued smoothly. “However, as you have guessed, it is the book that is of utmost importance.”

  “You have a habit of intriguing me,” Queen Isabella said. “Please, go on.”

  Sir William stood. “I have brought it from the cave, along with the incomplete text we presented to Waleran. Perhaps now is the time to deliver them to Her Majesty.”

  When Lord Hawkwood nodded, Sir William left the room, and Lord Hawkwood closed his eyes to think as he spoke. “It begins with an explorer named Marco Polo …”

  “Yes.” Queen Isabella nodded. “The name is familiar. He dictated a book—Description of the World, I believe—while in prison.”

  “It is remarkable that you know of it,” Lord Hawkwood said, eyes now open. “His book is gaining popularity only now.”

  “Not remarkable at all. Coincidence. The man who transcribed the dictation, a romance writer named Rustichello of Pisa, spent time under the patronage of King Edward, my father-in-law. Royal courts all over Europe have copies of this book.”

  Lord Hawkwood grinned. “Then, Your Majesty, you shall readily understand what follows. As you know, Marco Polo explored Cathay, the unknown lands of the Far East. His patron was the great Kublai Khan, ruler of the Mongols. Polo received a golden passport from Khan and, for twenty years, traveled safely through that land, recording everything he saw.”

  Queen Isabella nodded impatiently. “He beheld wonders, to be sure. I am told the people there have yellow skin and slanted eyes and are extremely intelligent.”

  She waited while Sir William rejoined them, a large, leather-bound sheaf of parchments in one hand, several other books balanced in his other hand.

  “Are these familiar, Thomas?” Sir William asked, smiling.

  “I consulted them often,” he said. “And I know that the Druids sought them for themselves.”

  Sir William frowned. “You did not know?”

  Thomas asked the obvious question. “Did not know what?”

  “There are hundreds more, knowledge gathered from across the world, from ancient Egypt to Greece. Merlin himself had collected many. It is a library beyond the value of a kingdom! We had al
ways feared that if you joined the Druids, they would gain it for themselves.”

  Thomas shook his head. “The books in the cave are the only ones I’ve ever seen. They were to remain safely stored within the trunk. I thought by themselves that they were what the Druids sought.”

  “But what,” Queen Isabella interrupted, “has Marco Polo to do with this book?”

  “Consider this, Your Majesty. What if Polo recorded other books, not merely fanciful tales of the exotic, but books with the most advanced science of this world, books with secrets so powerful that kingdoms might rise and fall upon them?”

  “I find that difficult to believe.”

  Lord Hawkwood turned to Thomas. “Please bring some of the exploding powder.”

  Thomas left silently and returned several minutes later with a small leather bag. Lord Hawkwood reached in and removed a pinched portion of dark powder.

  “Potassium, Your Majesty,” he explained. “Sulfur and charcoal. Ingredients easily obtained.”

  Lord Hawkwood poured a tiny trail of the powder onto the floor, near the fireplace. He twisted a twig loose from a nearby log, held the twig in the fire until it was lit, then touched that small flame to the line of powder.

  Even though Katherine knew what to expect, she still marveled at the small flaring explosion of light and sound.

  Lord Hawkwood turned back to Queen Isabella. His face was blackened with soot.

  Queen Isabella did not laugh, however. Her eyes were still wide with wonder.

  “Yes,” Lord Hawkwood said. “Exploding powder. The people of Cathay invented it centuries ago. Yet we in Europe had no knowledge of it. And Marco Polo deliberately excluded it from his descriptions of that land. For good reason. Imagine the possibilities. If such power would be harnessed by men of evil …”

  “It saved our lives,” Thomas said.

  Queen Isabella shifted her eyes to him.

  “In the Holy Land,” Thomas said. “Lord Hawkwood had lined the entrance to a pit with it. When it flared in the darkness, all the bandits panicked. We succeeded in our attack.”

  Queen Isabella nodded. “I think I understand. This book of yours, if it contains many more such secrets, would be as valuable as a kingdom. How is it that you have it?”

  “The church in Rome had confiscated it for fear of what it might accomplish and destroy,” Lord Hawkwood answered. “In my own travels after the fall of Magnus, I heard rumors of it, and … I would prefer not to say how it was obtained, only that I had it sent here, to this abbey, where Thomas was to be raised away from the eyes of Druids. He would need what he learned from the book to regain Magnus.”

  “I will not press you for that secret,” Queen Isabella said. “There is enough pain in your eyes, and you are a man of honor.”

  Lord Hawkwood nodded thanks.

  “And the book is now mine?” Queen Isabella asked.

  “If you wish,” Lord Hawkwood replied.

  “Why would I not?”

  “If it falls into the wrong hands …” Lord Hawkwood struggled for words. “Knowledge of such a book will drive many men to desperate measures to obtain it. As it did the Druids. And in the wrong hands, a civilization may be shattered.”

  Lord Hawkwood began to pace, much as Sir William had done earlier. “Examine the politics of Europe. The balances of power are so delicately held. Your husband may choose to take the secrets of this book and fight more than just the Scots. Other kings may begin wars to obtain your knowledge.”

  He pointed at the baby sleeping in Queen Isabella’s arms. “Too many fatherless are left behind. Perhaps we can delay the advance of knowledge that might be used by evil men.”

  Queen Isabella stared at Lord Hawkwood and said nothing.

  The fire crackled and popped several times in the silence.

  “You have done so much for us,” she said. “King Edward, of course, will end the Druid uprising. In secrecy, of course. It would do little good for the people to be stirred by these matters.”

  She hugged her son. “You have ensured my child will inherit a kingdom, that revolt will not tear this land apart. And now, you offer this book—I presume, not copied in its entirety by any hands? The text Waleran possessed is somehow incomplete or incorrectly copied?”

  “You presume correctly,” Lord Hawkwood said. “It is part of our ultimate treasure of knowledge. Each alone can change history, but together, beyond any value you can name.”

  Queen Isabella looked from one to the other. Silently gazing first at Katherine, then Thomas, then Sir William, and finally, Lord Hawkwood.

  “Because of this secrecy, history will not record what you have accomplished. And that fills me with sadness. You are worthy of much more.”

  She nodded at the book. “And we will engage in this final act of secrecy.”

  Several more heartbeats.

  She moved to the fire, then held the book out, as if to toss it in the flames. “If I destroy this, no man may ever threaten any of us with knowledge of secret powerful weapons.”

  She hesitated. “Yet great power can be used for great good.”

  Several more heartbeats. Then she turned.

  “Thomas,” Queen Isabella then said softly, “I trust you with the book. You and the Immortals. Do with it what you need to advance the cause of all that is good in our kingdom. Destroy the false copy and protect the true one with all your mind, body, and soul.”

  Fifty-Two

  Contrary to what you might think,” Lord Hawkwood said, smiling at Thomas, “we are not ready to depart this abbey for Magnus.”

  Thomas innocently raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Queen Isabella was satisfied that no more Druid leaders will arrive. Surely there remains nothing for us here.”

  Father gazed at son.

  They stood along the river in front of the abbey hall. Midmorning sun warmed their backs. They shared the feeling of peace given by a valley quiet of wind, quiet except for the distant lowing of cattle and occasional bleating of sheep.

  Much had been accomplished. Day after day in the last two weeks, solitary travelers had arrived in the valley. Without fail, when captured, each had pleaded innocent to the charges of Druid conspiracy, but Waleran—as part of a desperate bargain to save his own life—had identified each as a Druid.

  The full horror of the Druid secret circle had been exposed in those two weeks. Again and again, Queen Isabella had murmured in shock and surprise to face each new arriving Druid. Many she knew from their positions of power in society. Magistrates, sheriffs, priests, knights, and even earls and dukes.

  All, now, were stripped of their worldly wealth and safely imprisoned. In one swoop, most of the Druids across the land had been taken.

  Beyond that, Queen Isabella had pledged to begin action against remaining Druids who falsely posed as priests in the northern towns. Not only would the spread of their power be contained, but the base they had established in the last few years would be totally eliminated.

  “Thomas,” Lord Hawkwood said, his stern tone betrayed by a playful smirk, “were you raised as an Immortal?”

  Thomas grinned and nodded. He enjoyed knowing he could not—even in jest—fool the man in front of him.

  Strange, he thought, to one day suddenly be forced to consider a stranger as a flesh-and-blood father. Especially a man accustomed to shrouding himself in mystery.

  “Of course,” Thomas replied.

  “Tell me, then, why is it that we are not ready to depart?”

  Thomas looked beyond his father’s shoulder to the high walls of the abbey. At the tiny window that he had so often used for escape.

  “We are not yet ready to depart because there does remain something for us here. Something we could not seek until Queen Isabella departed, for she should not know of it.”

  “Mmm.” Lord Hawkwood was noncommittal.

  Thomas grinned again in pleasure. As before. When I was a boy. Exercises of the mind. Tests of logic.

  “My mother would have enjoyed this.” Th
e words came from his mouth even as they reached his thoughts. Thomas stopped, suddenly awkward. Always, deep inside, there was the ache that Sarah was gone.

  “I grieve too,” Lord Hawkwood said after a lengthy silence. “Perhaps that is the highest tribute. To never be forgotten.”

  For several minutes, each stood without speaking, in the companionable way that friends develop when comfort replaces the need to fill air with words.

  Then a tiny roe deer moved from the nearby trees, hesitant at first, then confident that it was alone. Thomas clapped, and the deer scrambled sideways so quickly that it almost fell.

  The effect was so comical that each snorted with laughter.

  “Life,” Lord Hawkwood then said. “The past should not prevent us from looking ahead and drinking fully from life, from enjoying each moment as it arrives.”

  Thomas let out a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “And you look forward to drinking deeply from this cup with Katherine?”

  Thomas coughed. “Our reason for delaying departure,” he said quickly. “You were testing my observations.”

  Lord Hawkwood graciously did not pursue the subject of Thomas’s affections and instead nodded.

  “There had to be more reason for the Druids to arrive here than a single book,” Thomas said. “For many of these men, it involved the risk of travel and the need to explain a lengthy absence. No, there must be more.”

  “An interesting theory,” Lord Hawkwood said. “What might you guess?”

  “Before I answer,” Thomas challenged, “I have my own question for you. Why did you allow Isabelle to be sent by the Druids? You could have warned me.”

  Lord Hawkwood nodded solemnly, as though resigned to answer. “She was another test, my son. And a painful one, I know. I grieve that your heart was wounded, but I cannot deny you have allowed it to make you a better man. Such trials prove one’s character, Thomas. We all experience betrayal, heartache, and cruelty. Had you let the pain harden you and corrupt you, the Druids would have found it an easy task to beguile you. Had Isabelle’s beauty and promises of power tempted you more than the inheritance of which you had little proof, you would have been forever lost. But your faith in that which you could not see—faith in the future of which your mother taught you—preserved you. That faith grew through every hardship you faced. You stand before me now, a man with an unshakable faith in the true God and a commitment to do what is right rather than what is easy or profitable in the eyes of this world.”