Trapped with a Way Out

by Jeffery Martinez

  "You really thought that I cared if you lived or died?" the owner hissed and jutted the stave further up Vincent's back while kicking his injured right leg, "I left that life long ago. I am no soldier of the Ottoman rank. I came to Hungary looking for peace of mind. I care not for Ottomans here, your lordship."

  Reeling in pain as he wobbled to gain balance, Vincent still managed to chuckle, "You think I am a spy? How could I have befriended The Regent and somehow been able to rise up the ranks through such a transparent lie? Have you no eye for conscience?"

  The elder reconsidered for a moment, "…so you are a convert, like me?" his voice hinted his belief slowly increasing.

  "No, my father initiated me into the Order of the Dragon as a babe. I have sworn loyalty to protecting Christendom. I never converted because I was already Christian, and I never stopped being Christian," Vincent's tone had morphed from acerbically unpleasant to blazingly fervid.

  "I…" the elder lowered his weapon and released the hold he had, "…see." He took a few giant steps back, in case the man before him chose to charge forward and deck the owner. He concealed the weapon back into the folds of his cloak. Well, at least the boy passed his test. He really was who he claimed to be, and my had it been years.

  Vincent soaked in his surroundings for the first time, noticing the nice furniture around the office. How deceptive it looked, "And to think that one so ardent in his belief of his newfound religion could own a tavern."

  "I do what I must to survive, my lord," the owner lashed back, defensive, as he made his way to the desk and sat down with a rickety grunt.

  "Hmm," Vincent approached the desk and sat down as well, this one with a limp, "Serving people who live in squalor, doing little to better their stations, who sing and carouse late into the night in their rotten hovels until they fall over themselves and are awakened by the morn's disgusted constabulary. Great fun, yes."

  "It is no worse than your duty, my lord," the owner chuckled, this time grinning at the young man sitting across from him. How naïve the boy still was after all these years.

  "Which is?"

  "To serve those same people," he shook his head, disappointed, "Has my tutelage been all for naught, or have you remembered anything within that yawning chasm between your ears?"

  Vincent smiled wryly. "Your tutoring did lead to yawning. It is good to see a familiar face, old friend. I am glad you recognized me."

  "Ah, yes, well," he sighed, "It took longer than I would hope," the elder's body rested comfortably, his eyes now alight with reflection, "Long years have passed. You did not have the cares you carry now."

  "You deceive yourself, Costel. I have not a care in the world," Vincent tilted his head back, keeping the smile plastered to his face.

  "Who is she?"

  Vincent blinked, "What?"

  Costel chuckled softly, "I see the fire of rejection in your eyes, boy. There's no mistaking it."

  Vincent evaded the question, masking the twisted knot of anger his face was about to reveal, "I have come on important business, tutor. It would behoove you to answer me honestly."

  "Indeed, very important," Costel's chuckle turned into raucous laughter, "So important that you forgot your clothes!"

  "Listen to me, you coward, there is a traitor among us and I aim to find him. He nearly took Lord Ladislaus's life, my life, but has managed to kill dozens of others," Vincent relaxed in his seat, taking in a breath and composing his collected calm once more, "Taverns are indispensable for gossip and for shifty-eyed people with tilted morals. Have you heard anything that would merit suspicion?"

  Costel rubbed the base of his chin, a finger weaving in and out of his long white beard, "You cannot blame me anymore than you could blame yourself, my lord. I ran away for freedom, shedding the blanket of tyranny in which I had permitted myself to be cloaked, as did you. If that is your definition of cowardice, then we both chose the lives of cowards."

  "There you go, twisting words at your fancy and whim. You always did it so well," Vincent remarked, sitting back in his seat and shaking his head.

  "You did learn from the best," Costel reminded him, absentmindedly spinning an empty ink pot on the table, "And speaking of suspicious persons...there might be one instance of interest to you..."

  "Well?"

  "You understand that I am an older man now, and that my observation and what I perceived might not have been the reality?" Costel faltered for a moment, as if to make the ground rules clear so no one would come knocking and accuse him of anything later.

  Vincent displayed the best insincere smile, "The wrinkles on your face can surely attest for that."

  Ignoring one of his more ruder comments, Costel continued, "I can't say I remember what night it was, but a couple of men did take seat in this tavern. I know the look of a suspicious lay-about when I see one. And there were three, I think. Or was it four? This one time I remember-"

  Vincent fidgeted with his cuffs, too impatient for a long-winded story, "Yes, regale me with your tales of wisdom and morality, for I do declare my schedule free of anything else today."

  "Sarcasm," Costel spat, "The wisest of us say it is the refuge of a shallow mind," he sighed, "But I will continue. A handful of men walked through the doors of my tavern and sat at a table for nigh three hours before parting, and all of them without ordering one drink. They may as well have been loitering!"

  Vincent latched on, leaning in closer, "When was this?"

  "Before you and Lord Ladislaus had left...I think? Or was it while you were away..."

  "What manner of men were they?" Vincent pressed.

  "Well, two were certainly not travelers. They looked to be nobles who had just arrived at the castle."

  Vincent's chest deflated, his body sinking back into the cushion of the seat, "There were dozens of nobles who had arrived by then."

  "My child, do not be so crestfallen," Costel almost held out his hand for the lad, but quickly retracted it, "There is something else that might help. You see, one of the barkeep nearly spilled a mug of ale onto a peculiar book that one of them was cradling in his arms. By the way that he chastised my man for nearly ruining the book, you'd have thought that the book was the only thing keeping him alive."

  Vincent crossed his arms, befuddled for a moment, "A book? Why would a book be so important?"

  Costel's head jerked backward as he coughed in disgust.

  "Besides the fact that it is a scholar's lifeline to understanding the Truth of knowledge in this world," Vincent recited with colorful, sarcastic taste.

  "They were fussing over it for most of the time, and when I heard that you and Lord Ladislaus had been poisoned by arrows dipped in Hemlock, I pieced two and two together," Costel visibly shuddered, bringing his hand to his face as he saw Vincent's animate instantly.

  "What? What are you talking about? Piece what together?"

  "The book...it looked to be a book specifically on poisons, but it was folded to a page that had clearly been looked over many a time. The title of it was the information on hemlock, including any working antidotes..."

  Vincent's breathing shallowed. Experiencing a visceral reaction, his body retracted inward, as if the very name 'hemlock' caused his healing self to tremble at the poison he knew was still coursing through his veins...even if it was diluted to nothing. "That's...improbable."

  Costel noticed Vincent's reaction and smiled apologetically, "I know those memories are still a fresh wound to mind and body alike, but don't you believe that there are books in the library of the castle about hemlock? There may be more than one, and someone could have easily obtained one."

  "There is only one man I know of who is just as possessive of his books and their whereabouts as you describe, and that is the castle apothecary," Vincent stood up, propping his cane to his right side and made haste for the door, "Thank you, Costel. We will be in touch."

  Lord George grabbed his son by the collar and smacked him up against the rock wall of the cell, "You did not. Stop th
is! Don't do this! You are not the perpetrator, instigator, or a murderer! I know you, my son. Do not lie!"

  Victor shoved his father off and turned hastily towards Rodriguez, "Why do you think I was able to sneak through undetected? Why do you think I was able to watch over everything that happened, conducting it behind the scenes while also being present for my handy work at the end? I hired them! All of them!"

  The Regent slammed his fits on the iron bars, feeling them reverberate throughout his limbs, "How?!"

  Victor began to choke on his words, vision beginning to blur, "My lord has no shortage of enemies. It was easy for them to convince me. They already knew the road to the Hunyadi Castle," Victor wiped his eyes, "From the way they spoke, I could tell they had a score to settle with you."

  The Regent's breathing turned ragged, trying to control the urge to open the cell and strangle the man right there, "Why? You were to marry my daughter! Why would you want her killed, you monster?!"

  The young man closed his eyes, already seeing the headman's axe in his future. If he had to leave this world branded a traitor, then so be it. He wasn't going to let his father's life be taken from this world –not when he was working so hard to fight off people who wished to brandish him more than a traitor. His father had a province to save, and what did Victor have? He had a father whose life was currently more important than his. No, Victor would take the fall instead. It was for the better. Both of them were not going to get out alive, so if it had to be anyone it was to be his father.

  "WHY?"

  "Because they promised to place me on the throne. Because I would rise up and become King of Hungary. The prince would be easy to dispose of, as would be his crazed uncle. They were next."

  Rodriguez forcibly clenched his fists from reaching within his cloak to his custom-made and personally blessed daggers. He instead felt their metallic outline through the fabric of his clothing. Again, it was an act to soothe his unraveling nerves. How could someone so close to the Hunyadi family come within a second's length of murdering everyone in his way? How could a boy premeditate on such an act of hellacious proportions?

  "How could I believe that a single person was the reason my kingdom nearly collapsed? Victor alone could not possibly accomplish this," The Regent questioned Rodriguez to the side.

  "One could not. He had help," Rodriguez agreed, "I'm sure there was someone, or perhaps some people, other than the Assassins who had planted this idea in his mind."

  "How can I be expected to fight an opponent twice as strong when the people of this kingdom try to murder their betters? Morale is so low, the Ottomans may as well take us where we stand, for the Kingdom of Hungary stands on rocky ground! To Her left and right, the conflicted states, some clearly housing traitors in their midst; behind Her, the Ottoman Empire frothing at the mouth; in front, the precipice of Oblivion," The Regent lamented, raising a hand to his forehead to suppress his fast-growing migraine.

  A guard skidded to a halt from racing down the stairs, nearly falling into Rodriguez's arms, "M-my lords!" he huffed and puffed for air. All four lords turned to him, noting the clutched note in his whitened knuckles and his face wild in a panic, "The Ottomans! They have taken Constantinople! They turn northwest for their next victory!"

  "No..." The Regent only managed a whisper, "Byzantium has truly fallen, then. They threaten mainland Europe, now," he closed his eyes for a moment to pray. Then, turning to Lord Rodriguez, he stated, "Let us replenish the ranks, shall we?"

  "A mandate?" Rodriguez's eyes widened. His conversation almost a year ago with his lordship had not strayed far from his mind. Rodriguez remembered that as the night Vincent burst into his perfectly planned world, throwing it and caution to the wind. It turns out that fate might have it Lord Rodriguez's way.

  "I will pass a mandate declaring any boy over the age of fourteen to enlist," The Regent turned swiftly and left Lord George and Victor shouting for him, "I will have soldiers. I care not from what background they come, as long as they swear fealty to me and take up an oath to fight for Christendom. I will have an army, and I will have it in a three weeks, are we clear?"

  Rodriguez nodded, "Immediately, my lord. I shall oversee it personally."

  "I want everyone to know of the Ottomans' advance. I want every man, woman, and child to know and understand what exactly is coming after us. Send it through messengers, couriers, ravens, arrows, I don't care. Spread and transmit it throughout the churches if you have to. I want everyone to remember why they need the kingdom to unite now!"

  Three long weeks had passed; three excruciatingly long weeks. No one had ever experienced an entire kingdom on such high alert before. Threat alone would cause any commander to increase the amount of his men on patrol, but since there had been actual sightings of the Ottoman Army entrenched at Constantinople, now renamed Istanbul under Muslim rule, it had cost commanding officers to the weary peasantry all their strength not to lose sanity. It was no longer a distant nightmare separated from reality by a small straight in between the Black Sea and the Aegean Sea. The fear of Muslim rule had now become true actuality. All there had to be done now was gain enough strength in number and wait for the first move.

  What was truly intolerable were the long nights of peace and quiet, absent of any wind, where Vincent could hear a pin drop or a mouse scratch its tail as he stayed in the barracks, refusing to sleep in his own private quarters. No one truly wanted to face death, it seemed, but Vincent. To this warrior, waiting on the edge of a war he could neither face yet nor hasten was even worse. He had heard countless times from his superiors in Edirne that it was 'the calm before the storm; the deep breath before the plunge', and that was what made it insufferable: the anticipation. Anticipation always led to fear.

  Fear, Vincent knew, was only a construction of the mind's thoughts of doubt. Moreover, doubt and speculation were always the enemy of calm. Perhaps this was why Vincent abandoned his quest for the truth of what had happened that fateful evening of the explosion. Perhaps that was what kept him returning to Zargo's room, only to stop himself from pounding on the door and confronting the man. Perhaps what the people needed was to believe that Lord George and Lord Victor were traitors to their banner and to the kingdom, instead of a more sinister belief that the idea arose from within the nobility of Hungary itself. Perhaps the people needed to believe a lie in order to unite themselves against a common truth -the truth being the advancement of the Ottoman Army.

  Who was Vincent to tip the fragile balance of what remained of the tranquility in the region? Who was he to press matters that would break the unity of an already weaker country supported by delicate alliances? If it was best for the kingdom to continue hating two innocent men, especially in this time of national peril, then who was Vincent to gainsay what really happened?

  To Vincent's surprise, he had to remind himself constantly that the safety of Christianity was his prime directive; he was an initiate of the Order of the Dragon.

  Fear was rife within the towns and villages, even within the castle walls, deep inside the fortification and stronghold, and as the long nights would continue, that fear would lead to panic. Where panic arises, nothing good follows.

  "BACK! BACK, you inbred idiots, or I'll shout the order to cut you down!" Pip shouted atop his mount and flashed his torch at the enraged mob. The night had come again, and terror on the streets wracked the town anew. Soft rain droplets splashed down the cobble pathways, but a biting breeze punctuated the tension among guard and rioter alike.

  Mounted guards followed Pip in formation with their swords drawn at the crowd, continuing to advance as the people began to scatter and retreat. Doors were slammed along the apartments as men made their escape, hoping not to be recognized and caught, or chased down and thrown in the town jail for the night.

  One particularly angry man charged a guard. The horse reared up while the guard drew his sword and came down on his throat, cleanly slicing through his neck and protruding out the other end as red cascaded down.
What few angry men that still counted as the mob screamed and fled down the streets in a flurry, frightened by the fatal turn of events.

  Pip cantered his mount, chasing them down until the last of the rioters had scattered in every which direction.

  "Sir," one guard said as he pulled up, "Shall we patrol the streets for the rest of the night?"

  Pip nodded, "Oui, you and your men rake the streets for any other rioters. Chase them down, but do not kill them unless they actively seek you. Understood?"

  "Yessir!" he paused as Pip turned his mount around, "Might I ask where you are headed?"

  "The castle. I must report this to The Regent," Pip answered and galloped off.

  Lord Rodriguez walked impatiently alongside Walter. Both men regarded the other with contempt, in some form. Though the manservant was exceedingly more tactful than the advisor, Rodriguez would never miss an opportunity to remind Walter of his rank. Tonight, they were answering a summons to what was fondly called the 'map room'. Quite like its use, it was where The Regent had collected maps of all shapes and sizes, most showing the territories of the Kingdom of Hungary, but many others were of the Ottoman Empire or Hungary's neighbors to the north, east, and west. If there was any doubt of The Regent's whereabouts, one could usually find him bent over the master table in the center of the room, thumbing the tiny scaled models of allies in blue and enemies in red.

  "I understand that you would wish to address the Ottoman incursions by meeting them head-on, but perhaps with the right amount of men we will not have to fight battle after battle," Walter gently reasoned, opening another door for his better.

  Rodriguez snorted in derision, "As I have stated before, we will have enough men. I have gathered enough for The Regent's army in three weeks, as he wished. It cost all of my messengers two horses and nearly their lives, but along the roads they were able to ask for assistance from as far east as Lithuania, as far west as the Kingdom of Austria, and as north as the Teutonic Knights."