Jonathan Dunn - The Forgotten King

The black Fardy’s eyebrows raised themselves like towering thunderclouds that threatened to wash out his clam-shell eyes. “This is beyond the cause of goodness and I cannot but repent of it if it makes me seem your superior in virtue.” He brought his hands together as if he were clanging cymbals; yet his cymbals were his brother’s ears.

“I beg to agree,” whereupon the other stood and faced his brother.

They were interrupted by the call of their blond relative, “My brothers, the enemy charges! Your patience must be patient to be proved, for we must first survive!”

“Yes,” the two belligerents chorused, and they set to work at once.

Meanwhile, de Casanova and Lyndon paced the deck of The Barber.

“What keeps them? Can the resistance have been fierce?”

“Would I know?” de Casanova growled, seeing in his sovereign a picture of the woman who scorned his love. “Perhaps it was better guarded than he thought. We can only wait.”

“So it is,” Lyndon sighed and returned to his seat. He was thoroughly soaked, even with the canopy.

De Casanova continued pacing, his eyes latched onto the coast where Gylain and Montague had landed. Then, seeing something, he stared into the impenetrable forest. At this time, Gylain and Meredith were engaged in combat, but de Casanova could not see this. Instead, he saw the sparks from Gylain’s sword as he lashed at his opponent.

“They have done it, Lyndon!” he cried, “The signal has been sent.”

The King of Hibernia took his feet. “Forward, Captain! Signal the charge!”

“The chain, my lord?”

“It is removed, begin the attack,” and Lyndon danced in glee and terror at the upcoming clash of arms and convictions.

The massive fleet began to move. It was a small island off the coast, a dense metropolis of war. Those in front began to charge: slowly at first, then with gathering speed. Those behind followed, and like water coming from a mountain they grew faster as they went, flowing down in a frenzy of pride and patriotism.

But the chain was not yet lowered. The first ships wrecked upon it, sliced in two and sunk to the bottom of the sea.

“What is this?” Lyndon cried, “Gylain signaled us, yet the chain remains!”

“Should we pull back?” the captain asked.

“No,” Lyndon hesitated, “No, I will take Gylain’s word: forward.”

Then, with a crash and a splash, the massive chain snapped from its anchor and itself sank into the sea. The fleet continued without losing its momentum and the rebels were left exposed. Meanwhile, the storm grew stronger. The attacking fleet was thrown forward by a powerful swell, landing on top of the rebel ships. The archers shot and the boarders were forced back. But they came in greater numbers. The rebels lost their advantage. The archers released their birds of prey, but the decimated ranks of the enemy did not fall back a second time. Instead, the rebels were left to fight off their enemy with their meager weaponry. It was a massacre. The blood was only kept from overflowing the deck by the waves that washed it away.

“Do not fear, my men,” the Admiral roared, “Courage is the devil’s handmaiden, but fear foments defeat,” and he grabbed a bow from a dead man’s hand and fitted an arrow to its string. A soldier came from behind, hoping to cut him down; but the Admiral turned to him just as his sword began to descend. “Death, fool!” he cried, and shot the arrow through the man’s eye. He died at once.

But elsewhere the battle soured into defeat. The deck was swarmed with Gylain’s soldiers. As one died another took his place. The ships were overtaken; only the desperate attempts of the crew kept them from complete destruction. The Marins broke their opponents to driftwood, perhaps, with their rams above and spikes below; but they could not leave their position, lest the enemy flank them and cut them off from the shore. At length, the Admiral sounded the retreat.

“We are taken, fire the ships!” and he dashed the lantern down the hold, into the hull.

The crew followed his command. The boarders were too confused to stop them. The ships were lit, and the rebels jumped onto the Marins, which came alongside to gather the survivors. It took only a moment, for few of the crew remained alive.

“All that live are aboard, head for home!” the Admiral called to Barnes through the command window.

Barnes obeyed and the Fardys followed; the rebel fleet abandoned the harbor to Gylain’s force. Still, their burning ships blocked the passage for a moment, for the fleet could not risk being dashed against them and thrown to the fire.

“But ten more minutes and the sea would have eaten them,” the Admiral cursed. “As it is, we must do that ourselves.”

At that moment, the Marin hit the shore and the rebels began to disembark.

“It is time,” the Admiral said to Alfonzo, who had just returned from battle on the plain. “It is time,” and he said no more.

Chapter 89

The rebel sailors poured over the sides of the Marin, fleeing to the ramparts. The Marins were set adrift and ablaze, destroyed lest they be used against their makers. The Admiral walked beside Alfonzo across the beach. They were silent until they reached the fortifications.

“The rain is against us,” Alfonzo said, “For the trenches are flooded.”

As he said, the tunnels in front of the ramparts were flooded, leaving the archers without a perch. The water washed against the foundation of the ramparts behind, undermining its strength. Yet the distance to the bay had lessened – the water had already risen ten feet in the flood – and the enemy had less of a foothold to assault from.

“Can we hold them?” the Admiral asked.

“Forever, no; as for how long, we will see. If we can slow their landing, the storm may be our ally. As it is, they will have trouble laying siege on the castle in this rain.”

“But a retreat, if only to the castle, will prepare the men for defeat. Your plans have been washed away,” and he looked into the sky. Gravity had struck the celestial ocean.

At that moment, Barnes came up. “Sir, the Marins are abandoned.”

“Well done, Barnes. Your first command is completed with honor,” said with affection.

“Thank you, sir. Where should I position the men?”

“That is not a question for me, but for the commander, Alfonzo. As for me, I retreat to the castle: my war is with Gylain, not his armies.”

“Then you fight only for revenge?” Alfonzo asked. “Victory for revenge trumps defeat in damnation.”

“Nevertheless, it is what I will have. What happiness is left for me in this life?”

“Your daughters; they would be slaves for you.”

The Admiral flexed his face. “No, I have had domestic happiness. It is damnation as well. If I must be damned, I will make myself worthy.” Turning to the castle, he added, “Send for me if he comes.”

“He will not,” Barnes ventured, “I know for sure that Gylain will not march with his men.”

“How?” and the Admiral struck out with broadsword eyes. But the young man was not cut.

“It was he who lead the assault on the chain: I saw him with my glass. He has Jonathan Montague and a dozen soldiers with him. They do not mean to rejoin the fleet, for they beached their boat and it will not sail again until the tides come.”

“He seeks me, as well,” the Admiral looked into the darkness. “I will follow him.”

“Alone?” Alfonzo cried, “Father, you cannot do this: without Willard, you are the rebellion.”

“Me? Fool of a man! Where have I been, these last fifteen years? I am myself a beached old man, dried and salted and hung in the galley. I may be Gylain’s enemy, Alfonzo, but you alone are freedom’s ally.”