Jonathan Dunn - The Forgotten King

Casper was no less lost in thought than his companions. He knew why he was singled out to go with Alfonzo, and he had an idea as to what was to happen. But he could not make up his mind, so he did nothing.

When they had walked a good distance, Alfonzo called out to him, “Casper, go forward and watch for an ambush, we will follow behind.”

“Yes, master,” and with that Casper went forward, out of hearing of Vahan and Alfonzo.

“We are alone, Vahan Lee. You can now tell me of the secrets which you seem to enjoy spewing forth.”

The gentleman apparently thought better than that, and decided not to reveal himself just yet.

“I do not understand your drift. I am a loyal Atiltian, and I have no secrets,” he said

“You have changed your mind once more, have you?” questioned Alfonzo, “I do not understand why you keep pulling back, unless you serve the French monarch.”

“How can you think that, Alfonzo, after what has befallen us?”

“What has befallen us, Vahan? You escaped from my prison and defended yourself from another group of bandits. Perhaps I should recapture you?”

“I did nothing in the beginning and I am doing nothing now.”

“Nothing, and that is the problem. You have no answers to the questions that I ask. I am the master here, Vahan Lee, and if you wish to be free then let me know your identity.”

“What questions would you ask then? I am a simple-hearted man, and loyal to my country. It is for my accusers to prove otherwise,” said Vahan.

“I do not accuse you of being disloyal to your country, I merely ask if your country is Atilta or France?”

“France!” cried Vahan, forgetting himself. Then he recovered by adding in a half-hearted attempt at deception, “Is not my country.” He smiled weakly at Alfonzo.

“Tell me all, Vahan Lee. If I desired you dead would you now be alive? Your secrets are safer with me than yourself, and I dare say, if I guess them right, so are your plans.”

“My plans, the loyal Atiltian that I am, are for the benefit of this land, and I will reveal them to whom I choose. You cannot coerce me.”

“Yes, of course. I know you are right in this. I must apologize, for I grow boisterous whenever I think of my native land in the trouble that it is. If only we had allies with a monarch on the continent, then we would be secure from that side and our troubles half over. Have you heard rumors of any kings thinking of supporting us against Gylain?”

This subtle tactic of Alfonzo’s was more than Vahan Lee could bear, and he stood almost bursting out of his seams during Alfonzo’s little dialog. The gentleman’s face turned red and his eyeballs half popped out: so great was his excitement, and the anticipation he had about revealing his long – and badly kept – secrets.

“You have earned my trust, Alfonzo of Melborough, so I will confide in you – strictly confidentially, of course.”

“Of course,” was the answer.

“You know me as Vahan Lee, but that name is merely a fake, to allow me to go incognito. I am rightly known as Thomas Vahanlee. You may have noticed that I have a slight French accent.”

“Yes, a slight accent,” though he had a very heavy one.

“And that my attire is partly French.”

“Is it? I did not notice,” though he stunk of French nobility.

“That is because I am indeed French, though obviously very loyal to the people of Atilta. One need not be native to be patriotic.”

“Oftentimes foreigners are the most vocal in praise of a country.”

“True, but to continue: I am a noble gentleman in my country France, the king’s chief, the hands behind the government, so to say. It was he that sent me on this secret mission to ascertain the character of the rebels in the forests. No one else could be trusted to be loyal to both France and Atilta, and to be discreet about being so.”

“Discreet it is,” Alfonzo chuckled.

“Let me tell you, friend, though they are not very visible, I, too, have my faults.”

Alfonzo gasped in feigned amazement.

“Yes, I too, Thomas Vahanlee of France, have my faults, as imperceptible as they may be. But to continue.”

“Please do.”

“His Majesty the King of France wishes to explore the possibility of assisting the rebellion against the tyrant Gylain, and he has asked me to find a noble man with whom he can communicate without fear of betrayal.”

“May I suggest Lord Milada of Erlich.”

“I was thinking you.”

“Oh, indeed? You must know that I am not a leader, for I am not noble born, at least not in the Atiltian nobility. I have no property except the hearts of men.”

“Yet what is worth more than the very images of God?”

“Nothing, though it is a sin to worship his images.”

“True. But I am still of the opinion that you would be a better contact than a nobleman. You are free from suspicion, or at least free from the eyes of the enemy. You are safely in the forest with your own men. And you have the means to easily communicate with all of the country.”

“You have convinced me. Tell your king that his help is welcome, but his rule is not.”

“His only purpose is to restore the royal family of Plantagenet to the throne. His brother was the king, you will remember, and his death struck him hard.”

“But where does he intend to find an heir to the slain monarch?”

“The rumor in France is that the boy survived, and His Majesty feels the presence of a strong king rising from the oppressed forest lands.”

“Feelings are deceptive, though I admit to the same. There is someone whom my eye has rested upon of late, and now I go to look into it more closely. Directly after the Revolt of the Lion’s Mane, I wrote an account of what took place, that I would not forget the details should I need them. Now I am in such a need, for if things are as I remember them, our chances have improved.”

“Of whom do you speak?”

“Willard.”

“A strange man to say the least: mysterious and cunning.”

“We will see soon enough, for we have reached the hideout where the records are stored.”

They had come to a rather large oak tree with a trunk that broke into three sections ten feet from the ground. The whole trunk itself was no less than forty-five feet around. Alfonzo and Vahan Lee stopped at the trunk, and the former dropped to his knees, throwing himself into a vigorous search for the hidden area. They called it a hideout, but it was more a secret compartment, for their shelter was twenty yards to the east. After a moment, he stopped and lifted a dirt-covered panel from the ground. A locked chest sat beneath it.

“Help me pull this out, Vahan,” and the two men brought it out of the hole.

Alfonzo took a key from inside his shirt and opened the chest. From the inside he took a piece of folded paper. Then he stood and concealed the chest once more, so that, in the case of an ambush, the bulk of the papers would not be lost. Such was the way of the forest.

“Where is Casper?” he asked Vahan.

“He crept off into the forest while you were digging,” was the answer.

Alfonzo took a long look in each direction, then returned to the paper he held in his hands.

“I will read this aloud to you, Vahan, that you may know a little more of the history of our struggle, and that you may judge Willard’s identity, for the opinion of but one man is worthless.”

“Often the opinions of many are no different. But read it, and we will see what we will hear.”

“What?”

“Never mind,just read it.”

“Very well,” and with that, Alfonzo began to read what he had recorded roughly fifteen years before:

I, Alfonzo of Melborough, record this on mid-summers night of what was the twenty-first year of the reign of our beloved King Plantagenet. Not more than three days ago the Revolt of the Lion’s Mane was affected successfully, however, and the king is no more. The royal family was destroyed: the king and queen murdered, the prince chased into the heart of the forest by followers of Nicholas Montague.