The Crystal Crux - Betrayal (YA EDITION Book 1)

by A Werner

  “Pero, you don’t have to do anything. Look around you. This is your sanctuary. We have a castle, a host of men-at-arms and a retinue of knights at our disposal. We can fight this. We can fight this together.”

  “No, we cannot fight this, not here, not ever. I won’t allow it. The people don’t deserve to suffer on my account. I must take the fight away from here, away from all of you.”

  “Pero, you speak as if Gherardus is completely mad and willing to risk open warfare on an Imperial post. Such a siege would persist for months and rile the angsts of bankers and guilds across the continent, not to mention the Church and the Emperor. Commerce would be at a standstill, the peace accord with Spain interrupted. Lord Gherardus is not that impulsive. He must serve the needs of the whole political spectrum. There are formal channels. It would take months, a year to build a case against your reputation and assemble enough allies. And things tend to change. Much can happen before then, good things in our favor.”

  Pero ignored Francis. “And when I get out on the open road, I will be unholy, I promise you that. It’s going to be bloody, very bloody. Yes, Francis, the prosperity of the wicked has compelled me. When I leave Capua today, I leave my faith behind. Miriam shall sing. No more pity and second-guessing myself. I will be decisive and daring, invincible. Only a god can stop me.” Pero gritted his teeth. He could almost taste the blood he purposed to spill. “And let a god try. I dare Him.”

  “Pero,” Francis conceded, “I know what it is to feel weak. I have fought that battle many times in my life but never have I run from my responsibilities, and never have I denounced my integrity towards God. Swearing oaths and embracing faith is what separates us from the animals. Irreligious errantry is evil and mercenary. Nothing good can come of it.”

  “Precisely, nothing good should come of it and that is why I must do it. What if something good does come of it?” Pero paused and allowed Francis a moment to absorb that thought. “What if there is no God? What if we can succeed and prosper without him after all? If this be true, then it is up to us to carve out our own form of justice. We must break the chains that bind us. I want to do whatever compels me at the moment it compels me without fearing judgment and damnation. I will no longer turn the other cheek when I am struck. It is the duty of every man to decide for himself what is evil and destroy it, thereby instituting good.”

  “Then you believe in a world where evil dictates the good we do? Good itself is no longer a catalyst for life on its own merits but solely reactionary to threats and fears?”

  “Well, we cannot pray the fools away. They continue to multiply and exploit our solemn oaths. They use our faith and fear against us. They know we will limit the extent of our violence. We won’t defile their women and murder their children as they would do ours. It is time we changed that and take the fight to their homes. Hit them where they sleep.” Pero inhaled deeply. “I am prepared to do what is necessary. I will invade their inner sanctums and remove their heads.”

  “Pero, listen to yourself. You want me to believe that your crusade against God will make the world a better place?”

  “Fear. Lies. Betrayal. Hate. Theft. Crucifixions. Beheadings. Drownings. Rapes. Murders. These things will never cease. They are part of who we are as men. And those beasts sitting at Court are simply men who have learned to deal with these wicked realities. It is time we kicked our imaginary gods to the side and flourished. I could do no worse than they. I would make a good king. And I, at least, understand what loyalty and courage are. My foundation has deep and powerful roots. Enough of these virtues will survive once the killing is done.”

  “Pero, that is not true. There is no returning from such an abyss. Every malevolent act you henceforth commit in the name of justice, will only disconnect you from the greater good you are swearing to perform. You will be broken and become the evil thing you loathe.”

  “There is always something being broken.” Pero remembered the Cross of the Angels and the sound of Anthea’s antique loom shattering. “I am already broken. I am the heart of all our problems. The enemy will come for me and destroy all of you in the process. I must remove the heart from Capua so you can all live in peace.”

  “And you would have us live at peace with the men who exiled and murdered you?”

  Pero de Alava was done. He realized that they were at an impasse that could not be bridged. He cooled. “No, my friend, I would not have you live anywhere near these men. I would have you return to England where you belong.”

  Pero slid his hand inside his breastplate and recovered two folded pieces of paper, both sealed with a wax imprint of a scarlet star, the Velez crest. He broke the seal on the first and unfolded it, handing it to Francis. “Read my friend. This document releases you from your personal service to me. You are no longer obligated to remain here as the steward of Capua. I have set aside land and gold for you and your family. It is all legitimate, fully authorized and explained in detail. You, Midonia and Anne will never want for anything again.”

  Francis held this inheritance letter at a distance and did not read it. He stared blankly at Pero.

  Pero started fiddling with the other piece of paper. This paper he left sealed. He kissed the surface before placing it in Francis’ capable hands. “I require one last favor from you, friend. See that Anthea receives this.”

  Francis nodded and bowed his head as he comprehended the stalemate. For the first time in what seemed a long time, they understood one another. “It will be an honor.”

  Pero and Francis stood back up and embraced one another as brothers on the drawbridge. They walked wordless back to the stables. Pero started to cinch Zaon’s straps as Francis held the bridle.

  “You will give my best to your family for me?”

  Francis smiled. “Yes, of course. Anne just returned from holiday. Tomorrow is her birthday. She will be fifteen.”

  “Then that gift should be good news. You’re a wealthy man now and can get her anything she wants.”

  Francis thought a moment on how this news might affect his daughter. He wasn’t sure if Anne wanted any changes. She appeared quite content living here at Capua. She was her father’s child. They were both content here.

  Niccolus and Arrigo started cinching up the straps on their saddles and poking around in their inventory of supplies one last time. They watched their lords out of the corners of their eyes waiting for a command to remount.

  “Pero,” Francis added, “promise me you will pray. When you get out there and find yourself alone in some dark place, scared and helpless, tempted to give up all hope, promise me you will try once more to pray. God is real and all things are possible with Him. The good you have accomplished here in Capua was not in vain. Only a man with a special gift for justice could accomplish what you have done.”

  “Are you trying to preach to me again, Francis?”

  “When have I ever letup?” Francis tried hard to look angelic. “I know this might be my last chance to speak with you and I’m not going to waste it. Redemption and renewal are still within your grasp. They can be yours. You have a divine purpose in life.”

  Pero closed his eyes almost wishing he had the courage to leave this last statement alone and not say what he was about to say. “A divine purpose in life?” he whispered. “What happens to a man who blasphemes the Lord? Takes His name in vain and destroys His sacred objects? What if a man denies his special gift and refuses his calling?”

  “What do you mean, Pero?”

  Pero placed one foot in the stirrup, nearly ready to make a leap back up in the saddle. “I mean, I am tired. I am tired of being a good man, tired of possessing this special gift that rewards others while I take the stripes.” He shook his head and vaulted up fully on Zaon. “I can’t even wed without the burden of this special gift crushing me. I feel spent, used, taken advantage of by everyone, even the people I love the most. I don’t want to feel this way anymore.” Anger corrupted Pero’s countenance as he nudged Zaon forward forcing Francis to rel
ease the bridle. He galloped his grey palfrey out into the center of the bailey. “Look Francis Whitehall of England, I am cured. I am healed. I am a young man again. There are no devils who can tempt me, no gods that can defeat me.” Swinging his right arm through the air as if snatching something invisible from Capua, Pero squeezed his fingers tight. “Today, I steal the very essence of justice and carry this virtue into hell itself. From the blood I will spill and from the violence I will commit, my kingdom shall rise on earth. I am my own god and I have chosen my destiny.”

  Pero was prepared to make a dramatic exit. He was going to show off a bit, make his horse dance while he waved. But he was a second too late for that. A large horsefly bit the grey-speckled palfrey’s backside forcing her to buck before he was ready. Pero nearly lost his grip. He clung on to the reins for dear life. Zaon danced exactly like he wished but there was nothing honorable about his seating in the saddle. He looked like a clown, flailing and struggling to stay upright. When Zaon finally crashed back down to earth, Pero had his breath taken. The grey palfrey then dashed for the outside world. Pero was only along for the ride. He was not in control. Hardly the auspicious beginning he had envisioned.

  Panicked, Niccolus and Arrigo tried to climb back up in their saddles, but their horses were uncooperative, spinning around in angry circles, disoriented and defiant, bumping into one another. By the time the sergeants controlled their mounts, reaffirmed their bearings and pressed forward towards the postern, they were lagging far behind their master, fearful they might never catch up.

  Francis Whitehall blamed himself for all that had happened. The Griffin should have been more attentive to his lord’s emotional state. He wondered how he had been so blind. Now, hindsight was too late. Pero de Alava was gone.

  Feeling old and lonesome, he waited until all the dust settled in the courtyard before retreating inside the castle. It was difficult walking up the narrow flight of winding stairs. He felt as though he bore a cross upon his back. At Anthea’s door, he pocketed his inheritance letter and examined the note Pero instructed him to deliver. On the other side of the red wax seal, it simply read, in beautifully hand-drawn black script, ‘Anthea’.

  Francis realized that this was perhaps the last command Pero would ever assign him, the last directive he would ever have to obey. And Pero did it calling him ‘friend’.

  Chapter 27 – The Letter

  Francis Whitehall knocked and waited. He heard shuffling and whimpering on the other side of the door. It took a long minute before Anthea Manikos creaked it open. Francis was horrified to see her slouched figure emerge. Her short russet hair was tussled and unruly. There was dried blood on her blue bodice. She wore an unfamiliar frown. The Griffin stole a peak behind Anthea and spied the wholesale destruction. Her room looked as if a war had been waged. He couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed her and embraced her. She gladly accepted the comfort.

  When the embrace concluded, Anthea eased away, gently squeezing Francis’ warm hands to prove how brave she wanted to be. Francis followed her back into the room, gently shutting the door behind them. Anthea dropped to the floor in the eye of the storm. All around her were tiny piles of gems and wood splinters, fragments of her shattered life. Francis wanted to think the best of his dear friend but the letch apparently understated his cruelty towards Anthea. ‘This woman is bleeding for God’s sake. What the heck did you do to her?’

  Anthea was lost and offered Francis no explanation for the unsightliness.

  Francis used his foot to clear a place on the floor beside her. Once he was sitting, she tipped her head sideways and rested its weariness on his shoulder.

  Francis agonized over the letter now. He wondered how any words this maniac wrote could defend this madness.

  “He’s gone Francis.”

  “I know. I was with him when he left.”

  “You spoke?”

  “We had words.”

  “I can’t stay here, Francis. I must return to Greece.”

  Francis wanted to disagree but there was little chance Pero de Alava was ever returning; and even less chance, if he did return, that he could undo the damage he had done to her faith.

  “What happened to us, Francis? It was all right there, so close. I was going to be married.” She rubbed the silk gently on her neck. “And Pero, he was so handsome, so brave. He wasn’t scared of anything, never used to be. He made me believe he was different, a good and honest man. But now I see he wasn’t. I am right back where I started, Francis. I never thought Pero could treat me this way.”

  Francis didn’t know why he was whispering but the gravity of the moment seemed to call for it. “Pero was under a great deal of pressure. His meltdown is much bigger than you. He still loves you. He is angry with God and nobody can fill that void, not even you. He needs to make peace with his Creator before he can make peace with us.”

  “It’s not that I want to hate him for this, Francis, I don’t hate him; I know that. But I don’t think I can ever forgive him. I don’t think I can ever forgive him for being so weak. Is that wrong of me?”

  Francis always seemed to find himself preaching to someone. “We all get weak, Anthea. Christ forgave us from the cross. I know that probably doesn’t help you right now but I’m pretty lost for answers myself. He is my best friend and forgiveness is difficult to come by today.”

  “That makes two men, two engagements, and two failures; it must be the Lord’s will to leave me barren and alone.” An impetuous thought flashed across her mind. “I think I shall retire to a nunnery.”

  Francis gritted his teeth and prayed silently. ‘Come on Pero; do not fail my faith in you. This letter had better be something special. If it isn’t, I will be at a complete loss as to how to treat you if ever we meet again.’

  “Anthea,” Francis whispered some more. “Pero asked me to deliver this letter before he left.” He placed the writing in her lap on the ruined silk.

  She was not quick to open it. It took some thought before she finally slid her hand under the paper and lifted it. It seemed to weigh a ton.

  Francis began to rise. “I shall leave you to read this alone. The words are meant for you.”

  Anthea grabbed his arm roughly, beggarly. “No.” Her eyes were brilliant and terrified all at the same time. “Stay with me Francis, parakalo. If Pero has said anything hurtful in this letter, anything that resembles the cruel and viperous nonsense he spouted earlier today, I may become foolish with my own life. I am so scared right now of what he has written.”

  Francis nodded and stayed. He was going to be supportive and dared not tell her how he shared her fear. His memory of the honorable Spaniard, Pero de Alava, suddenly depended greatly on what was written in this stupid little note.

  Anthea’s hands and voice shook as she read the letter aloud.

  Anthea, I’m a fool. My words and my actions towards you were unforgiveable. I am so sorry I broke your grandmother’s wheel. I should have taken you up in my arms and begged for absolution. I will forever lament every tear I made you cry. By now, they have fallen away and dried up with my faith. I am dead where I stand. I don’t believe in myself anymore. I don’t believe in God anymore. I don’t believe in anything anymore. That is the crux of our dispute. It has nothing to do with you. You are perfect. You should not marry a man devoid of faith, aspiration and hope. I am so low. My fears have become my palisades. I cower behind regrets, timid and shaking. When I struck Rugerius, I learned that there was a world of powerful men out there that could and would use their hate to take everything away from me, take even you. This sanctuary we had built together at Capua dissolved before my eyes, vanished in darkness. It is war now and I cannot make war with them if I fear what they might do to you. Your love weakens me and I am so disconcerted by this truth. I have hid this fear from you for far too long. I have not shared this fear with anyone, not even Francis. Francis is my champion and the bravest man I know. I cannot begin to tell you how much I admire him. I wish I could discover the peace h
e exudes. His faith is ironclad and it seems like nothing in life can cripple him. I am proud to call him my brother.

  Be not dismayed. My fleeing from you and from my duties at Capua is rather predictable. I feel as though I have been running away all my life and you deserve better.

  Go now my love, return to Greece and embrace your father again. Find a good man of means, have children, prosper and be happy. Forgive me, forget me and live on.

  I heard a preacher once tell that hell is separation from God. I do not agree with him for I have made you my God, my very reason for living, and that is my problem. Away from you, I am in hell. Your smile is forever out of my reach. I can never cross the great divide between us. I cannot touch you, warm you, or hold you ever again. Heaven is gone. I miss you already. I have fallen so far. It is so dark out here. I am all alone. No one can save me now. Pero

  Chapter 28 – Oranges

  Halfway across the lowered drawbridge, Pero de Alava finally regained control of Zaon’s mad sprint. The Spaniard was so exhilarated by the pace his young palfrey was setting, he encouraged her to gallop faster and she responded faithfully. They sped south-southeast until Capua was far behind them.

  Thirty-four-years-old, Pero de Alava felt liberated. He was the carefree son of Blassilo Velez breaking in a wild jennet pony on open grasslands, long black hair trailing out behind him. Every muscle in his body was knotted and straining to remain seated in the saddle. ‘Ah, yes, emancipation at last. No more responsibilities.’