The Command - Brian Jacques - Flying Dutchman 02

Dominic leaned forward, his voice incredulous. “The Razan!”

The old man’s eyebrows raised. “Ah, my young friend, so you have heard of the Razan?”

Dominic nodded vigorously. “Over the mountains, in the Spanish town of Sabada, where I come from, folk talked of little else. Honest men would make the sign of the cross at the very mention of their name. When horses or cattle went missing, sometimes even people, everyone would whisper that it was the work of the Razan. Mothers would use their name to frighten naughty children. ‘The Razan will get you!’ Yet nobody really knew who they were. Our priest said that they were evil magicians from Algiers who knew the dark ways of wizards and witches. But I’m sorry for interrupting you, sir, please carry on with your story.”

Stroking his wispy beard, the comte continued. “One hears all manner of tales about the Razan; some say they are from Africa, others, from the mountains of Carpathia. I think a lot of these things are fables, put about by the Razan themselves to instill fear in ignorant peasants. I myself have had reports of them putting spells on folk, turning men, women and children into fishes, beasts or birds. They prey on superstition and rule simple minds by terror of the unknown.”

Returning the signet ring to his index finger, the aged nobleman sighed. “My brother, Edouard, was frightened of nothing. Whilst he was being nursed by the Razan—who must have known who he was, or they would have slain him just for his horse and weapons—Edouard was smitten with love for a Razan girl. She was the only daughter of the Razan, and very beautiful. Ruzlina, for that was her name, would have none attending Edouard but herself. Her mother, Maguda, must have seen the possibilities of allowing them to be together. It would be an easy, and legal, way for the Razan to gain a foothold in Veron, a village they had long coveted. Together, Ruzlina and Edouard went through a form of ceremony that passes for marriage among the Razan. He brought his new bride back here when he was fully recovered. How that girl had lived among such a wicked brood as the Razan, I’ll never know. She was honest, true and gentle-natured—I could readily understand why my brother had fallen in love with her. They both lived happily in this place for nigh on two years.

“Then tragedy struck the house of Bregon.” Here the comte paused, as if finding it difficult to continue.

Ned went to him, laying his head on the old man’s lap and gazing up at him with soft, sympathetic eyes as he contacted Ben. “The poor fellow, see the sorrow in his face?”

Ben nodded and placed a gentle hand on their host’s shoulder. “Tragedy, sir?”

Dabbing his eyes with a kerchief, the comte explained. “Ruzlina died giving birth to her first child. It was a son. Edouard was so stricken with grief that he could not bear to look upon the child. He locked himself away in his chambers. Mathilde and I cared for the newborn baby, christened Adamo. It was a sad household, my young friends, full of sorrow and mourning, as if a light had gone from all our lives. Then, not more than three days after Ruzlina’s death, her kin, Maguda the mother and four of her brothers, appeared as if by magic on the steps of this house. I have never beheld a more sinister or barbaric-looking woman than Maguda Razan—she was the very picture of a witch. Dressed in black weeds of mourning, with her face painted in strange symbols, she pounded upon my door with her staff. Edouard would not leave his rooms to talk or even look upon her. She claimed the body of her daughter to take back to the mountains for burial in the Razan family vault. I could not refuse her this request. But it was her other demand that I could not bring myself to grant. She wanted little Adamo!”

Dominic stared at the old man anxiously. “You didn’t let her have him, did you, sir?”

A defiant glimmer entered the comte’s eyes. “No! I would not give up a newborn infant to murderous robbers, never! Maguda and her brothers departed with Ruzlina’s body in a casket. The brothers were silent, but Maguda Razan screamed like a wounded tigress. She called down all manner of curses upon Edouard, me and the house of Bregon. The villagers were so frightened that they ran away and hid. She made smoke and fire appear from the air, yelling vengeance and death, blaming my brother for the loss of her daughter. Then the Razan were gone—they vanished, leaving behind only smoke clouds and burning ashes.”

Karay could not help but ask, “So was that the end of it, sir?”

Shaking his head, the aged nobleman answered her. “No, child, that was only the start. Bregon was plagued by thefts and fires and all kinds of wicked doings. No matter how I barred the gates or stationed guards on the walls, the Razan would find their way in. However, I surrounded this house with armed men—I would not give up my nephew, Adamo.”

Ben smiled. “I wager you were very fond of him, sir.”

The comte resorted to wiping his eyes; his voice went husky. “Fond? The child meant more to me than life itself. He was raven-haired and dark of eye. Even as a baby, Adamo had a huge physique, strong and big-boned. But he was a calm child, very very silent. He never cried, or laughed out loud, or even chuckled. Doctors looked at him and assured me that he had the power of speech, that he was not born mute. Yet he never made a sound—well, hardly. Sometimes he would call Mathilde ‘ ‘Tilde,’ poor little fellow. My brother Edouard could not bear to be in his own son’s presence, can you imagine that?”

Ben felt he had to ask the question. “What became of Edouard?”

The comte turned the ring on his finger. “This ring belonged to Edouard. He wore it on his little finger, yet it is far too large for my index finger. This will give you an indication of his size. However, he was brought down by a single sip of wine. It was the work of the Razan, I’m sure of it. Somehow, one of them entered this house, got into his rooms and poisoned the wine. This took place two years to the day after his wife died. Now, let me tell you the final, and most awful, part of this sad story. On the day we buried him, Mathilde was preparing food whilst I was at the funeral. It was a bright warm afternoon, and she let little Adamo play on a rug out in the garden, where she could see him from the kitchen window. But the moment she looked away, he was gone!”

Ben spoke as the thought from Ned crossed his mind. “The Razan!”

The comte nodded, then leaned forward, resting his forehead on both hands. “That was eighteen years ago this summer. I have not seen the boy since, nor heard news of him.”

Ben felt enormous pity for the comte of Bregon, but he was slightly puzzled. “Did you not go out and search for him, sir?”

Closing his eyes wearily, the old fellow replied. “The Razan sent me a message—it appeared on an arrow, shot over the walls. If I tried to leave Bregon, they would invade it and take my village for themselves. A lock of the boy’s hair was with the note, to prove they had him. I sent out two pair of brave men. They never returned. So, now you see my dilemma. I am a prisoner in my own village, and I don’t know, after all these long years, whether Adamo is even alive!”

They sat in silence, feeling enormous sympathy for the aged nobleman’s predicament. The comte remained immobile, still with his eyes closed and both hands supporting his forehead as he leaned on the table. Faint sounds of the market fair drifted in on the sun-warmed noontide air. Outside in the garden, the thrush had been joined in song by a blackbird.

Ben communicated with Ned. “Well, now we know what the angel guided us here for. We must help this good man to get his nephew back. What d’you think, mate?”

The dog lifted his head from the old man’s lap as he answered. “Just show me a Razan and I’ll put a spell on the seat of his britches. I like this old gentleman, Ben—we must help him. I’m with you, and I’ll bet that Karay and Dom are too!”