by S E Turner
The other accomplice saw his chance and made over to Cornelius. The young man looked terrified and danced about with jutting movements and slashed the air with the knife. Beauchamp's adversary pressed forwards, though, placing each foot carefully on uneven ground until Beauchamp was cornered. His back was nearly against the wall, but not quite. The attacker had the audacity to play another sinister smile on his thin pale lips. That angered Beauchamp. He smiled back, turned, launched himself up the wall, propelled himself from a sill, and leapt behind the toothless grin. Without giving the smirk time to think, he rammed his face into the wall in front of him. The grin vanished as the lifeless body slid down the masonry, and a thin line of blood trickled from a gaping mouth. Beauchamp took the knife from his opened hand and turned to face the other one. The second lout was now cornered and waved his arms wildly like a terrified bird, but Beauchamp was too quick, and while the assailant was waving his arms in the air, the better man threw himself forwards and slashed the maniac across the neck. The razor edge of his blade left a bright red open wound that would show no mercy. He, too, slumped to the ground and would not bother anyone again.
'Two less vagrants to worry about,' he hollered to a totally shocked Cornelius, throwing the blade onto the dead man's coat and sliding his own back into its sheath. 'Look at them. They look like they've killed each other.' He pulled his own jacket neatly together and wiped his bald head. 'Now, where were we? I think we've gone a little off course.'
'You have to show me how to do that,' said Cornelius in total amazement and went back to retrieve the knife that Beauchamp had abandoned. 'That's twice I have witnessed you taking on men bigger than yourself.'
'That's evidence you have taken, Master Cornelius,' said Beauchamp ignoring the request.
'Maybe it is, but what if another undesirable takes it instead and tries to attack us again? I think it's better with me.'
Beauchamp nodded and grunted in agreement whilst watching Cornelius wipe the weapon clean on the deceased toothless vagrant and slip it into his belt. 'So, will you teach me?' Cornelius asked again.
'Your father told me to look after you, and that is what I am doing.' Beauchamp quickened his pace to escape the scene, still ignoring the plea.
'But I couldn't help you. I was scared. I froze. I was no help to you at all,' said Cornelius, trotting after him.
'But we're alive and those two are dead, that's all that matters, isn't it?' Beauchamp turned into the street market with the young man close on his heels. Cornelius tried another approach. 'Back in Ataxata, it wasn't really a life or death situation. Of course, I had my father trying to turn me into a warmonger like himself, or the murdering General and all of his deranged captains, but my life was never really in danger was it?'
Beauchamp nodded and grunted in agreement and picked out an apple from a stall.
'Oi, you!' shouted out the stall holder. 'That'll cost you 'alf a shillin'.'
He tossed her a full shilling. 'I'll be back tomorrow for the other one,' and winked at her.
The young woman put the shilling in her apron pocket and tutted into the air.
'But here is a totally different place. My life really is in danger,' said Cornelius, frowning at Beauchamp's audacity.
'Where do you suggest we learn then, Master Cornelius? Because there ain't too many forests round here to hunt boar. We can't go about cutting people's throats on the streets, and they don't run survival schools in a place like this, so what do you suggest we do?'
Cornelius wasn't going to give up easily. 'We practise on each other.'
The Marquis stopped in his tracks, took three huge mouthfuls of apple and threw the remains on the ground, much to the delight of a dozen squabbling sea gulls.
'Practise on each other, eh?' he nodded and grunted, licked his lips a few times, then wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand.
'Well?' said Cornelius.
'Is that what you want, really, that kind of power? To be able to disarm me with a knife or a sword? Do you realise that power changes people. It attracts the worst and corrupts the best. You have seen it with your father. Is that the type of person you want to become?'
The words were a crushing blow for the young man. 'I won't become like that. I still like my music and my singing. I just want to defend myself in this gods forsaken place.'
'Good answer, Master Cornelius. Come with me.'
Cornelius trotted behind him with a spring in his step as the Marquis led him down to the quay side. 'Down by the shore will be a good place to start/ we can conceal ourselves in caves while we practise our craft.'
'That is such a good idea, Beauchamp. Such a good idea. I will listen and do exactly as you say.'
'Well, I think you had better, otherwise you will find yourself in all sorts of trouble.'
Cornelius nodded earnestly and trailed after the master heading towards the caves.
The shoreline was jagged with nooks and crannies, and a snarl of rocks tried to disengage them as they sought out the deepest cavern with sharp eyes and nimble feet. Inside a deep hollow, the air was cold and damp with a strong smell of sea salt and littered with its debris. The same squabbling gulls had followed them from the town, but soon disappeared when the two men settled on an appropriate cave. The mouth was a cavern in the rock, barely wide enough for a man to get through, but Beauchamp had a nose for these things. They would be hidden from view, and as it opened to the north, would not get too hot during the summer months.
As Beauchamp had suspected, the small passage opened up into a huge cavity, with an underground stream and a wealth of natural carvings born from the roof of the cave. Though when the sun filtered through, these carvings resembled mythical creatures that only appeared in the fragments of one's nightmares. As the shadows played tricks on their eyes, the disfigured gargoyles took on life-enhancing characteristics and appeared to move around them.
'These must be the witches and dragons you spoke about, Beauchamp,' said Cornelius, studying every one of them in detail. 'Perhaps they used to live here and have been turned to stone over time.'
'I think they must be,' agreed Beauchamp, just as mystified and glorified with the natural forms as the novice.
Cornelius was barely watching where he was going until Beauchamp pointed it out. 'Careful where you tread,' he advised. 'It doesn't seem to dry out in here very much.'
'We must be aware of the tide,' the boy's voice echoed. 'We don't want to be marooned in here all night. '
'Oh, yes. We must rush back to the comfort of our splendid room.'
The two men laughed and began to arrange the area as best they could, moving the heaviest boulders out to the sides and levelling the debris on the ground. The first lesson seemed straight forward. 'Take out your blade, Cornelius. Feel its weight, look at the shape of it, remember its dimensions. Look at your hand and see how it fits nicely into the palm.'
Cornelius did exactly as was instructed, examining every inch of the weapon and how it felt in his hand.
'Now I want you to extend that to your arm. I want you to hold the knife and just keep bending your arm from the elbow and out again.' He demonstrated the action. 'It's easy, isn't it?'
'Yes, this is easy.' Cornelius felt quite pleased with himself.
'Wrong answer.'
'What?'
'If something is easy, you are doing it wrong, or you are not passionate about it.'
'It's easy for you.'
'Proficiency comes with experience. If you take the easy route and don't challenge yourself, then you will never improve.'
'So, what am I doing wrong then?'
'You're not holding it right, and you're not standing right. Look at you, your posture is all over the place. Stand like me: upright, strong, in control, legs balanced, shoulders square, eyes forward.' Beauchamp stood behind the boy and forced his student's shoulders down, then split his legs wider apart and repositioned his feet. Turning his head face on, he ordered, 'Now do it again.'
Cornelius re-focused and mov
ed his arm up and down but kept losing balance. 'I can't do it, now. It's too hard,' he complained.
'Proficiency comes with experience, remember? Focus on your muscles, feel them move around your bones. Work with the tendons, they are the elastic hinges that guide you.'
Cornelius was using up so much energy now and tiring quickly.
'Move your legs, sway into the action, imagine you have no constraints. You are in charge of your own body. Keep moving your arms.' The tutor wasn't giving up on his pupil.
After several hours, the boy shouted out, 'Look, look. I can do it. Look at me, I can do it now.' He paraded round the cave for his weary instructor to see.
'Good work, Master Cornelius,' championed Beauchamp. 'That's enough for today. We'll come back tomorrow.'
The next day in the cave, the tutor embarked on a new strategy. 'Feel your surroundings, Cornelius. Smell the air that makes you strong, listen to the breeze outside the cave, touch the walls that empower you, and wait for the earth to guide you.'
Cornelius switched on his senses and intuition.
'Feel the magic of the earth, feel its power, for it is greater than anything you will ever know.' Beauchamp rang out his instructions .
The cave became a harmonious mix of vibrations and sounds in their dark compact world. With only a few pores of sunlight seeping through the opening, this cave was alive with a beating heart.
'Now, with the cave as your guide, listen and feel and stretch your imagination, for if you don't engage with your surroundings, you can never be master of your craft. '
Cornelius didn't need to see what was around him—he could feel it. He could taste the salt from the most powerful element on earth, and he let it slide down the back of his throat into the bowels of his stomach and held it there as a powerful ball of energy. He listened hard until he could hear a change in the direction of the wind. He breathed in deeply until he knew what the weather would be in the next hour. He felt the strength in his blade. His fingers curled and spread with added strength. He flexed his arm with power. He knew the importance of the senses now.
The next day, they practised, and the day after that. Hour after hour, day after day, moving with the tides and the phases of the moon while the shadows in the cave changed with the sun. The cold was his nemesis, the rain even more so; for they challenged him and trained his hunger.
The following month, he was leaping round the cave over the huge oval sea stones. Within six months, he could dance around the cave in the dark. After nine months, he could scale the cave walls and do a back flip in the air. After eighteen months, he could disarm the Marquis and position the knife to slit his throat. After two years, they had come out of the cave and were practising their sword fights on the precipices of overhanging rocks: stabbing, thrusting and circling the steel. Sharpened blades sang out a tune as they split the air into mischievous particles—dancing from edge to corner, springing from a shoulder of granite to a narrow sandy track, tumbling to the pebbled reef below and leaping back up again. Practised feet made expert climbers. Engaged senses created power.
After three years, he could walk the streets without his bodyguard, day or night. Only a handful of times he was approached by attackers, but the swift removal of an eye or a quickly severed ear was all it took to get a reputation, and before long, no one was bothering him at all.
Beauchamp was a little sad that the young man who loved music and singing had gone, for there was something very vulnerable and sweet about that boy. The man before him could kill in an instant now and not think twice about it. But it made him smile the day when Cornelius had said, 'Now, could you teach me to steal an apple from a street seller and get away with it?' Perhaps some of the vulnerable young lad was still in there somewhere.
Chapter Thirteen
It was about the time, when Master Cornelius had been exiled for two years, that a disturbance in Ataxata meant that the search for the Seal of Kings had to be put on hold. It was the end of the year when the State Marshals came to the palace seeking information regarding a washed-up body.
'What do they want with us?' stormed the Emperor. 'Coming here looking for vagrants, the abomination of it!'
'I believe the authorities want to ask about the people who were employed here over the last five years.'
'What? Really? Corbulo, this is just too much!'
'We have done nothing wrong, Gnaeus. All we have to do is answer their questions.'
'All right, all right let them in, I will receive them in the mosaic conservatory. I prefer the view from there.'
'As you wish Gnaeus. '
The General went to instruct the guards while the Emperor took his position on the raised mosaic dais and looked around admiringly. An ornate crystal hall, studded with precious jewels and dazzling fountains, it was indeed an exquisite piece of workmanship that ran along the south side of the palace. The floor was solid marble as were the monumental pillars and statues that were strategically placed around the perimeter of the building. Two spectacular water features of solid gold and lapis lazuli were positioned in two corners adjacent to a range of ornate plants and exotic blooms of white, purple and yellow. At the end of the palisade sat a magnificent bust of Gnaeus sitting on a plinth of white alabaster with a granite column. The bust was the most incredible likeness, and he considered it the most precious item that he owned.
His self gratifying was halted with the entrance of the General.
'Everything all right, Corbulo?'
'Yes, the guards have been given the instructions. They will be here shortly.'
The General sat back and breathed in the sweet fragrance of rose, jasmine and honeysuckle. 'How wonderful this place is, Gnaeus.' And he breathed deeply once again.
The two men sat up straight when the guards opened the doors, allowing two visitors to enter. With the doors closed behind them, they removed their official hats and bowed to the Emperor. When invited, they strode the length of the mosaic hall. The peaceful image was tampered as hard soled boots clattered on the marble floor and green cloaks swayed against the swords at their sides.
'Gentlemen, please, sit down. We are ready to answer your questions.' The General pointed to two chairs that were positioned opposite them.
The visitors bowed again and sat down. A pause followed while the two officials took out their notepads and pencils. The taller one spoke first.
'Thank you, your lordships, and apologies for inconveniencing you in this way. It is most gracious of you to see us at such short notice.'
The Emperor nodded at the introduction and gestured to continue.
'My name is Dalton, and this is my assistant Benfry, and we are here on a very grave matter.'
'Yes, we have heard. So how can we help you today?' responded the General with a thin, wavering smile.
Dalton peeled back the pages of his notebook and stopped with a raised eyebrow. He read what was written to himself, then conveyed the message out loud. 'Two years ago, a body was found on the shores of Ataxata. It had been washed up several miles from here. A lone fisherman spotted the body and alerted the authorities.'
'Two years ago?' questioned the Emperor, raising his incredulous tone.
'Yes,' said Benfry. 'And it was already a two-year-old corpse by the time we found it. The man's throat had been slit, the body was white and bloated—quite hideous in fact—but the sea water had preserved it sufficiently, and that made it easier for us to identify.'
The Emperor and the General sat aghast as to why they were part of this investigation.
'Since then, we have been conducting our enquiries,' continued Benfry.
'A very slow and difficult enquiry, as you might appreciate,' added Dalton with a raised eyebrow.
'So how can we help with a four-year-old enquiry?' searched the General.
'Because we now know the identity of the deceased, and we now know who probably killed him.'
'I'm sorry, you have lost me,' said the General, and looked witheringly at the Emperor.
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'The deceased is one Marquis de Beauchamp,' continued Dalton. 'An aristocrat whom had recently come to the area to spend his fortune, or that is what we believe.'
The Emperor stroked his beard, his pained expression mirrored by the General.
'Is there something wrong, my lord?' asked Dalton.
'It's just the name you mentioned,' he coughed to clear his voice. 'Because if it is Beauchamp, then it doesn't make sense.' The Emperor's voice was thick. 'Because he was in my employment then.'
'Yes, our line of enquiries gave us the same answer, but it seems that your Marquis and our Marquis are not the same people.'
A look of bewilderment followed the revelation. 'Please explain,' the General said, massaging his chin.
'Of course, and please bear with us.' Dalton creased his eyebrows. 'We have managed to piece together certain facts. Firstly, it seems that a young man was in the area at the same time as the Marquis; secondly, we understand that his name is Gye. And thirdly, our enquiries have led us to believe that he got into a fracas with the Marquis.'
'A fracas?' questioned the Emperor, receding into his double chin.
'They argued about a game of cards,' explained Benfry.
'The young man was doing very well, apparently, until the Marquis accused him of cheating.'
'And was he?' asked the Emperor.
'By all accounts, he wasn't, but the Marquis took all the money anyway and left shortly afterwards.'
'Carry on,' said Corbulo leaning forward.
'We believe that the young man followed the Marquis, and they got into a fight as they argued about the winnings. A witness confirmed to us that the Marquis pulled out a knife on the youth. We are not sure of what followed next, but the Marquis ended up with his throat cut at some point. Believing he was unseen, the youth threw the Marquis in the water and ran away. We have since found out in the last few months that the young man adopted the Marquis' identity.'
'Why would he do that?' posed the General.
'It has taken us four years to piece this all together, so please excuse us if it seems a bit patchy in places,' apologised Benfry .
