Jonathan Dunn - The Forgotten King

“You have heard of him and of his deeds? Then tell me, if I were Montague, do I look to be fifty years of age? Is my beard not the richest black and my skin as tight as youth? But if I am not fifty, could I have been in France at the late king’s demise? Or at Saxony in the heat of battle? You see, I am not Montague.”

“Your words are coherent, but my orders are more so,” the captain said. “I am here to protect the interests of France and of Atilta, by order of Sir Vahan Lee.” They smiled when they heard the name with its illustrious prefix. “I am told that you are Montague, that you are not to be trusted nor given the slightest leeway, and that I am to hang you immediately upon return to the fortress outside of Bordeaux. And I do as I am told. Now turn yourself, surrender your weapons, and let us be off.”

De Garcia made as if to draw his sword, but Willard stopped him. “Is it better to die possibly in the future, or for sure in the present? Vahan will not let us be executed.”

“No, good sir,” Khalid said, influenced by Willard’s kingly stature, “I will do as I am commanded, and you will hang. But to live another day is still a blessing. Men, take their arms.” The soldiers disarmed the captives, bound their hands, and spread them throughout their ranks.

“Bring the women to the front,” Khalid commanded. “They will walk at my side.”

“If you harm them, I will eat your rotting flesh,” Patrick growled.

“Would you not?” laughed the blue-eyed Lydia.

“It is not I who would harm them,” answered the captain, “And I only bring them to the front that they may enjoy the lovely day without a hundred metal boots clanging before them. It will be only a short walk, for the river is nearby.” With that, Khalid turned and began marching, followed by the others. He was a hard man. His pace was a double march.

They reached the river within the hour, finding the battalion’s river boat under guard on the bank. It was fifty feet long and fifteen across, though its bottom was flat and sat only a foot below the water. Some sat on barrels and crates full of provisions, others on the sides, and still others were left standing. Khalid, however, gave this pleasure to his soldiers rather than to the prisoners. It had taken three days to reach the Cervennes mountains by wagon; by ship, they reached the fortress by the evening of the next day. On the evening of the second day, Willard and Ivona were seated together on a large crate on the rear of the boat, close beside Khalid’s own seat.

“Were you treated well during the march, Ivona?” Willard asked.

“As well as any prisoner. I am aware of my beauty, for though it is nothing to me, it is much to others. It inspires a passion in men: some to possess it by love and others by force. But the captain is a man of honor: it only inspired his respect.”

“You are aware, then, of the powers you have over men?”

“I am,” Ivona did not look away, but met Willard’s eyes with her own.

“And yet you do not yield in favor of any man?”

“And why would I? What I have is only mine because I have been given it, and I cannot give what is another’s.”

“You are strange, for a woman.”

“Because I do not revel in my beauty?”

“Yes, and because you do not try to increase it with ornaments.”

“Perhaps I know that my beauty is best served alone.”

“So it is. Your countenance is your beauty, and that is formed by your mind and your thoughts.”

“Have you studied me so?” she asked with a smile. Then, quietly, “There are better things to be studied.”

“But Ivona, a flower must grow to the sun, and a man to beauty. For you I feel many things.”

“Do not say it,” Ivona turned her head, “For I cannot return it, as I am not meant for it.”

“Would God create such beauty only to leave it beyond the touch of man?”

“The finest things he consecrates to himself.”

“Perhaps, but I have seen how you are, and you have seen how I am.”

“I have feelings, you mean, but they do not govern me. If my heart is yours, my soul is not.”

“You speak, and I see your lovely lips moving, and I see their expressions that delight me unto weariness. Yet I cannot comprehend their words.”

“My love is the folly of youth.”

“If youth is folly, then age is wisdom; let us grow old together.”

“Foolish man!” she faltered, losing the strength of her voice. “I cannot love you!”

“Foolish woman!” he returned in the same whisper, “I cannot but love you!”

In the fading light Ivona’s hair grew darker and her eyes deeper. The moon hid behind a cloud for a moment. In the darkness, gravity drew them together. He kissed her. She did not recuse herself. Then, with a brilliant twinkle, the moon returned. Ivona broke away and turned to the night to conceal her happiness. Only the silence thought back to what had been: heavy, foggy silence.

“Vanity, vanity, all is vanity,” she whispered, but she could not mean it.

The air was broken by a laughing call from close beside them. “Make love, Montague! For now come the gallows!” It was Captain Khalid.

Chapter 78

The fortress was just ahead on the river, twenty yards from the shore with a paved path passing from its gate to the docks, where several other ships were loading men and cargo. The gates of the complex were left open for the moving of cargo and in the courtyard – though it could not be seen from the river – was a gallows, a raised platform for the purpose of hanging.

Khalid disembarked his men. With a rock-hard countenance he took Willard by the arm as he led them to be hung. “The end has come, Montague. Do you have any confessions to bring your soul to peace?”

“Only this,” answered Willard, “That I am not Montague.”

“Stubborn and stout-hearted before the end. But that is well, for I would have thought less of you, if you groveled after all the tales which have been told of your motionless heart.”

“Does a dead man care for a living man’s opinion?”

“While he lives, he does; and you are yet alive.”

“Still, I am a king, and kings cannot care for the opinions of men; for they forge them with their fiery eyes and shape them with their outstretched arms. But, for conscience’s sake, know that I do not hold you in contempt; for you do your duty and nothing more. The soldier cannot be swayed by the personal, and you are a soldier.” To Willard, a man of the forest, this was the highest degree of praise. “Vahan is a strange man and doubtless forgot to include in his orders that you spare the king you were sent to save. I did not think of it, myself,” and Willard laughed for a moment. “No, he is not to blame: he is too good a friend for that.”

“I am not so foolish, though I still admire your persistence, Montague. A lesser man would have growled and sworn long ago, throwing the jest aside. But to do so, I tell you that if there were indeed a King of Atilta, Vahan would be as dear to him as you say.”

As the captain spoke they reached the gates of the tunnel. Khalid bellowed through the stone corridor to those beyond, “Prepare the gallows!” A crowd began to stir, as the soldiers came out to greet their comrades and witness the execution. Willard looked about him for some sign of Ivona, but she could not be spied.

“It is not until the end,” he moaned, “That the beginning is even known! Woe to me, in life and love.”

Khalid turned his head in the darkness and did not answer. If even his foot was human, he did not let it know; but as for his heart, it was a species of the order officius . He did not stop as they were absorbed into the courtyard, but led the battalion forward until they stood before the gallows. It rose ten feet from the ground, with ten separate nooses hanging from the upper section, while below each sat a trap door. These were the blocks. When the execution was ordered, they would be pushed open and the prisoners left out to dry.Khalid led Willard directly to the platform, raising his hands as if to tie the noose himself.