The Crystal Crux - Betrayal (YA EDITION Book 1)

by A Werner

The situation suddenly took a dire turn as Pero’s blue eyes clouded over. He had to close them for a long moment. He convulsed and had trouble breathing. A dribble of blood appeared on his bottom lip. The dark-haired girl he had been nuzzling moved away from him and stared. Pero regained his composure. “Can that handsome mare of yours carry me to an aid station? It would seem I require more assistance than these attractive young ladies can provide. I just don’t have the blood to flatter their vocation, right now.” He smiled ever so slightly when he said it.

  Again, Francis did not hesitate to help his new comrade. As if he himself were composed of dust and leaves, Francis spun up off the ground and whistled for Molly. He assisted Pero into the saddle, his movements decisive and flawless, all most impressive.

  The three bawdy females watched, disappointed. They pouted a bit at first but that didn’t last long. Soon they were giggling and waving their goodbyes as Pero unlatched a tiny coin purse from his belt and dropped it on the ground for them.

  “Don’t worry. Plenty more where that came from.” Pero coughed as Molly bucked a bit and started walking. “Tell me Sir Francis, do you owe fealty to another or are you your own lord?”

  “The lord I serve has fallen on difficult times and can no longer support me.”

  “And you do not recant from such failure on his part?”

  “I am not disappointed. Lord Geoff is a virtuous man. I made my pledge before God and his holy angels. Only God Himself can amend the conditions of that arrangement.”

  Pero shook his head and smiled. He was not ignorant of the current state of knighthood. Loyal knights were difficult to find. “Such an interesting dedication you keep, Sir Francis. I myself am a young and could use a caballero with such fidelity. Virtud such as yours deserves a better fate than that which I hear.”

  There was only silence as Francis Whitehall steeled himself. He had to remain focused on getting this young knight the help he needed. He had already accomplished a great deal today, saving a man’s life and gaining considerable wealth on the tourney field. Francis pulled Molly forward towards the aid station, suppressing his excitement, refusing to give it life. Today might be the day his most earnest prayer to God was answered. ‘Stay cool. Stay cool.’

  Pero, being only twenty, a whole ten years younger than the Griffin, had no stomach for indifference to such good news. ‘Francis Whitehall should be drunk with pleasure right now!’ And then Pero realized his language and accent might be creating a barrier in their communication. With a big cheesy grin, Pero leaned down over Molly’s neck, rapped the metal crinet twice for attention, and stated matter-of-factly, in no short terms, making sure Francis Whitehall understood his every word perfectly, “You have saved my life today, Sir Francis Whitehall of England. Now I am going to save yours.”

  Francis couldn’t hold back his smile any longer. ‘God be praised.’

  Chapter 24 – Messenger

  Provost Guidus Salvatore had been branded ‘Fiscus’, ‘moneybag’, by many of his rivals. The fifty-year-old loved money. This was no secret. As Provost of Campania, it was his duty, for eight consecutive seasons, to oversee every major transaction affecting the region. Fiscus was an important person.

  And yet today, this important person felt slighted. The Provost was a common errand boy waiting for Pero de Alava in the great hall at Capua. In a leather satchel he safeguarded a secret parchment, a letter he himself had never read. He had been entrusted to deliver it, that was all.

  The great hall was hot and dreary this time of year. There was no wind to speak of but plenty of light pouring in through the open windows along the eastern and southern exposures. Seven chandeliers made from deer antlers clung to the ceiling. There was only one long table set up in the center of the room with benches on either side. Hanging on the walls were two enormous, poorly crafted tapestries with absurd hunting themes. Fiscus was tired of looking at them, studying them. He had them memorized, down to the tiniest detail. There was a bland, red-petal rose bush in one corner of one tapestry that particularly bothered him. It was disproportionate and seemed wholly out of place. It attracted his attention every time he looked at. ‘What a piece of dung.’

  Far across the room were two squires who had accompanied Guidus. These young militants, Strenna and Fabio, answered to Rugerius Fabbro. In Fiscus’ disregarded opinion, the misfits were an unnecessary precaution. The roads were safe. He didn’t need them. This demotion, albeit temporary, was embarrassing enough without witnesses.

  Guidus Salvatore could no longer remain seated. As he had done several times already this morning, he rose up from the pine bench and patted his thighs to stir the blood. He paced to the archway facing east, his hands behind his back. He sniffed the refreshing odor of green ivy clinging to the masonry outside the window. His stomach churned. He was hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything since leaving Parthenope last evening. He had expected to be better received upon his arrival. ‘Perhaps this is the way Lord Pero conducts his business. Of course, Lord Pero cannot know it is I, the Provost of Parthenope delivering this letter. Who would assume such a thing?’ Guidus lowered his head. ‘Surely not I.’

  Guidus judges by the position of the sun that it was already past midday. Four long hours wasted waiting for Lord Pero to attend him. ‘Where the heck is he?’ The heat of the sun burned his face, fueling his impatience.

  From the north end of the hall came the sound of laughter. Fiscus straightened his red tunic and shifted the overlapping white cape to one side of his body. He checked his belt again and touched the scroll once more. It was still attached and still sealed. Everything was perfect. The pledge was nearly concluded.

  As Lord Pero and his estate steward entered the hall in cheerful spirits, Guidus removed the pointy silk-bag cap from off his bald head and bowed awkwardly but respectfully.

  The distracted squires were caught off-guard. Startled, they clamored noisily to their feet before bowing. Pero disregarded their presence and darted toward the messenger. His left eyebrow shot up. “I know you.”

  Capua was not a wealthy region so Pero and Guidus had hardly spoken over the years. They knew each other but barely, mostly by signatures on paperwork.

  Guidus Salvatore was also at the banquet when Sir Pero clubbed Rugerius Fabbro unconscious. Fiscus didn’t care about that event. He remembered being rather amused by all the violence which went against his nature. When Gherardus expelled Pero from Parthenope, Guidus gloated internally, secretly. It seemed just reward for embarrassing the Provost’s office. But the episode ended and Fiscus went back to work the next day, giving the matter no more thought. ‘Never burn your bridges,’ his father always told him. ‘People are selfish and do wicked things for stupid reasons. So be it. Rise above their pettiness. Leave the dead in their graves.’

  “Si Senor, I am Guidus Salvatore, the Provost of Parthenope.”

  Pero smiled uncomfortably, his head shaking in disbelief, the smearing nickname ‘Fiscus’ quietly passing through his thoughts. “What madness compels Lord Gherardus now? You are no courier. Surely you did not volunteer for this duty.”

  “No, my lord, I am no volunteer. I’m as confused as you, as to why I was chosen to deliver this dispatch.” Guidus opened the satchel on his belt and pulled out the rolled-up parchment. He handed it to Pero.

  Pero took hold of the scroll and motioned Guidus to be seated at the lone table.

  Francis Whitehall strutted swiftly to a nearby corner and retrieved the only high back chair in the room. He pushed it to the head of the table for Pero to sit upon.

  As Pero sat, he slid his fingers through the parchment, breaking the seal.

  Francis motioned the young men across the hall to be at ease. The squires honored the command with a hint of arrogance darkening their features. Francis perceived the conceit but chose not to address it or correct it. There were more important matters at hand, for now.

  A dangling metal icon of Sarcinus, the purple dragon with the golden tongue, fell out of the scroll. The royal
seal was fixed to the parchment by a short braided cord and wax. The words on the parchment were beautiful, written by a calligrapher’s talented hand. Pero had not yet read a single word when his excited kitchen steward, Benectus, bounded into the hall with his servants, causing a ruckus.

  “My meal is here,” Pero announced.

  The kitchen staff placed three chargers of food, much more food than Pero had ordered, on the table before their lord, as well as an empty goblet and a quaff of limoncello. “Excuse me Guidus,” Pero exclaimed, “I am starving. I have not eaten a bite all day.”

  Guidus Salvatore nodded politely. He hadn’t eaten either and hoped the lord of the manor might share this bounty with him. The offer never came. He could only eat with his sad blue eyes.

  Pero tossed the scroll that had rolled itself back up to Francis.

  “Shall I read the writ, my Lord?” Francis asked.

  Pero inhaled two bites of pasta and started in on a colorless hunk of cheese. With food in his mouth he responded. “Si, please read.”

  Francis unrolled the parchment as Benectus and his joyful workforce vacated the hall. “The writ is addressed to Sir Pero of Penafiel, Lord of Capua.” Francis inhaled deeply and spoke verbatim. “My Lord, terrible news has come to us from Benevento concerning Melfi. While on holiday, a lady of their court named Meliore was kidnapped near the Basento River. The kidnappers are demanding a ransom and the city of Melfi is demanding a neutral mediator.”

  Disgusted, Pero de Alava shook his head. He threw down his hunk of cheese and shoved aside the charger of pasta nearly tipping over the limoncello. ‘This is no atonement. What about a truce between us? Should I pretend everything is better, forgiven and forgotten?’

  Francis sensed his lord’s frustration and waited.

  Pero rapped his bare knuckles nervously against the table. He instructed Francis to continue reading.

  “Pero de Alava, you are hereby commanded to leave Capua at once and handle the exchange in Melfi.”

  Pero jumped to his feet, nearly upending the high back chair. He prowled from one end of the great hall to the other. His steps led him eventually to the same open archway where Guidus Salvatore had wasted four long hours. Staring into the vastness of space, enduring the heat baking his skin, Pero frowned. ‘The preacher is correct. All is vanity.’

  Before Pero de Alava could turn around and instruct his friend to read some more, his keen sense of vision caught hold of a mysterious object racing above the clouds. It was distant and difficult to describe but it appeared to be a horse, a white horse with wings. The horse’s powerful legs ran over the currents as if it were earth, the hooves kicking up swirls of cloudy vapor. It dashed in and out of view so quickly, Pero didn’t know if he was imagining things or not. He scratched his head before dismissing the sighting.

  Francis began to read again. “You will not return to your post at Capua until this matter has been fully resolved.” The steward relaxed and pulled his brown eyes away from the parchment. He hoped Pero had finally heard enough and might finish the reading of it in private. Pero, however, had turned his back to the room again and was peering off towards the horizon.

  Francis Whitehall lowered his head and read some more. “Additionally, because of the unstable environment surrounding this crime, I must keep your journey secret. You will avoid Benevento and travel directly to Melfi using a remote and ancient trail known as Eagles Pass.”

  Francis stopped reading. This command was absurd.

  Absurdity, however, was no match for Pero’s madness. The Lord of Capua cracked a devilish smile as he realized everything in his life was truly hopeless. “Eagles Pass,” he whispered to himself. “Eagles Pass.” His bright blue eyes closed as he began to conjure up dark images of the creatures said to haunt that place, everything from fire breathing snakes to eight-legged wolves, rabbits with horns and eagles with human faces. It was hell. And then the nightmare he created in his mind became vivid, turning into a daydream. He opened his eyes and saw that the room was changing. He saw Francis and Fiscus and the table clear enough, but he also saw a great darkness. Two worlds were becoming one. A mountain roared up out of the floor, the cone spewing flames. Ghostly streaks of lightning flashed down from the candelabras where a storm had formed in the ceiling. Five brilliant crystals hovered motionless above the storm, shimmering brighter than stars. The great hall transformed into charcoal and then nothingness. Pero found himself standing alone in a field, shivering. It was desolation as far as the eye could see. Drops of freezing rain fell from the sky creating puddles everywhere. From out of the mud pits of steaming earth came horrific beasts with purple skin, screaming like banshees from another world. A thousand winds lifted piles of ash off the ground, forming them into a mob of men and women. The ashen-faced people started to run. The purple beasts chased them, gorging on their bodies. Their sharp talons tore through them, tearing them apart. Imps emerged from the shadows, black humanoid devils with rock hard bodies. They unfurled their coal-black wings and soared effortlessly through the storm clouds. Pero sighed sorrowfully. The world was running mad around him. He looked down to see that his feet had turned to clay, becoming one with the earth. He could not move.

  A ringing clap of thunder brought the divided images together. Everything was all black before returning to normal. Cold but sweating, eyes glassy and wide, Pero de Alava stared blankly at the other men in the hall. ‘No one has seen what I have seen.’ He trembled. A whisper fell from his lips. “Francis, finish the reading.”

  Francis Whitehall disputed the sheepish command. He still hoped to get Pero to privacy.

  “Francis, continue reading!”

  Francis Whitehall was hardheaded. He loved Pero as a brother and would not settle so easily. He felt it necessary to oppose his lord for his own good.

  Pero exploded. He charged at Francis, abruptly halting his advance within a few feet of the table. He stomped his boot on the castle floor. The great hall didn’t quake but should have. “Sir Knight! Read!”

  Beaten, the Griffin respectfully bowed his head and returned to the manuscript. “You will avoid Benevento and travel directly to Melfi using a remote and ancient trail known as Eagles Pass. No one outside your trusted circle must know of this. You may secure the aid of two scouts.” Francis bit down hard on his tongue before finishing the reading. “Do your duty soldier and may God be with you. It is signed, Lord Gherardus, Commander of Parthenope.”

  Before anything more could be said, Guidus Salvatore rose to his feet. The Provost was appalled by the letter and found no pleasure in the hearing of it. He kneeled before Pero. “My lord, I regret being the courier chosen to convey this hateful letter. If I had been advised of its contents, I assure you, I would have refused to carry it. We’ve had our differences, but I pray you know that I had no part in this vile act.”

  Pero found himself in limbo. He had no qualms with Guidus Salvatore. He gave the Provost a sincere pat on the shoulder and edged him to his feet. Guidus quietly returned to the bench at the table.

  Pero turned his face decidedly away from everyone in the great hall. He was composed and completely calm. “Francis, send some men to La Torre and fetch Anthea back at once. Let me know when she has returned. I will meet with her in her apartment before leaving.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  Pero did not stir. For a whole half-minute, he watched flecks of dust dance through streaming light beams, his heart bitterly disappointed; deeply grieved. Everyone could feel his pain. Pero bowed his head, tramped across the room and exited the great hall by way of a private door.

  Francis turned to Guidus. “Is Gherardus expecting a reply?”

  “No. Lord Gherardus instructed me to deliver the message in person and then spend the evening in Capua. I was to return to Parthenope on the morrow and inform the court of Lord Pero’s compliance. That is all.”

  Francis Whitehall respected the delicate position Guidus Salvatore found himself in. The man was after all a ranking civil servant w
ho shouldn’t even be here. “I am sorry for your wait. You have been most tolerant of us. Please be patient a little longer. I will send in servants. They will feed you and provide for your comfort. I pray the remainder of your stay in Capua will be more pleasing.”

  Francis Whitehall then gripped the scroll between his hands in a vain attempt to murder the words. The dragon icon poked him and made him madder. Francis marched out of the room the same way he had entered. The two young squires stood up from the bench and bowed as the estate steward fled.

  Cheerless, Guidus Salvatore revisited the open archway. A small, green lizard was sitting calmly on the ivy in the corner of the sill. Fiscus thought to swat it away but felt no real desire to harm anything at this point. ‘There has been enough damage done.’

  The two young knaves seated across the hall began to whisper boldly. Their whispers elevated, transforming into inappropriate giggles and eventually outright laughter. Fiscus rounded sharply on Strenna and Fabio as though he had some authority to do so. He blasted them with a terrible stare, the sternest he could muster. The young men were not intimidated. They made no effort to amend their behavior. They chortled even louder.

  ‘Rugerius shall hear of this.’ And then he stopped himself before saying it aloud. ‘Rugerius would laugh with them, if he were here.’

  Sheepishly, Guidus Salvatore hunched his head and turned back to the window. He had witnessed betrayals before but this was the first time he was party to it. Lord Gherardus had involved him. ‘How can I return to Parthenope and serve his interests again? Ignorance has always been my saving grace. I am no longer ignorant. The hopelessness I saw on Pero’s face will forever haunt me.’

  Guidus felt the heat of the sun and imagined what hell must feel like. A thousand thoughts raced to his silent lips. ‘How do men live like this? How do they live with themselves? How can they sleep at night?’ The Provost wanted to get back on his horse and race back to Parthenope. ‘I’ll have words with Gherardus and tell him just how disappointed I am with him and his… his…’ Guidus turned slowly around. ‘Why are those devious little misfits still laughing? What do they know that I don’t know?’