Jonathan Dunn - The Forgotten King

“Do not hang your head in shame, child,” Lorenzo said as he stroked her hair with his rough hand. “The forgiveness of our God is great, and greater still his mercy.”

“Yes, father, but how can it be given to one such as I? How can it be given to one who knew what was right yet did not do it? Ignorance cannot shield my guilt, nor even passive understanding.”

Oren’s fiery mustache erupted in passion as he answered. “You are young, child, and your wisdom is insufficient to guide your life.”

“Yes, but is not that of any man – or woman – the same? Do you know wisdom?” and she turned her head from him in muted emotion. Her flesh attacked her spirit.

He reached out and drew her back to him. “God uses authority to guide us, but those who wield it are cursed to guide themselves. Your father is your authority and he has pledged you to Willard. Who would not marry a handsome king?”

“I do not see you chasing after him,” she laughed.

Lorenzo shook his head, flopping his mustache about. “You feel no love for Willard?”

“Yes, but the love I feel for him is the love of self, rather than of others. Therefore, it is but a bland imitation of love. True love is to give, but the love I feel for Willard is to receive – to receive his affections and perfections, and thereby to satisfy my own desires for companionship. But it is my spirit that seeks such love and not my body. Therefore, it cannot be fulfilled with a physical love.”

“But he has as much spirit as you, and it is the spirits of a man and a woman that become one.”

“I am consecrated to God through salvation; Willard’s spirit is not holy. Men are changing, yet I need an anchor to build my love upon. Men are selfish, yet I strive to forget myself. My need is for God, and so I will desire none else: I have tasted the water of life and am no longer thirsty.”

“You may be a spiritual being, Ivona, but still you are physically based. The loves of the flesh can bring companionship – the joys of marriage and of motherhood.”

“Joys, yes, but only so far as they are a reflection of the relationship between man and God. Does not God give birth to his creation, and nurse it to maturity? So he gives us motherhood as a symbol. Is God not intimate with his followers? So he gives us marriage as a symbol. He gives us these things as placards to the heavenly. But I can have the spiritual: why would I abandon it for a pale comparison?”

“Yet, since the physical reveals the spiritual, it can be used to guide our souls. It is good or God would not have made it.”

“God desires my whole heart, leaving no room for any man or child to be loved of their own accord. I cannot love a man romantically without putting him above my God. I can only love him through God; as a creation rather than a creature. If I do not hate my father, I cannot be of God, and if I do not hate Willard, I cannot follow his commands. For if I give love to a man for his own sake, I would be tempted to love him more than God.”

“My dear child,” Lorenzo said, “Why do you sell yourself?”

“Do you not see? The kingdom of heaven is like a great treasure hidden in a field. When a man finds it, he sells all that he owns and buys that field – that he may own the treasure.”

Lorenzo began to speak, but before he could a shout came from the stern.

“Admiral!” it cried. “Admiral, come quick!”

“What is the matter?” answered the Admiral from the front of the ship.

“The fleet, sir,” Barnes yelled, “It has come about and is sailing toward us.”

The Admiral took a look behind them. “Raise the sails, men, and put her into the wind. We’ve been discovered!”

Chapter 45

“I will have you yet, William!” Gylain roared, and his voice echoed through the lofty Great Hall.

His men were scattered about the room, fleeing the chandeliers that had broken through the floor into the storage closets below. The windows overlooking the gate were broken, and the rebels gone.

“Leggett, come to me,” he scowled. When the chief guard was at his side, Gylain turned to Montague, who was also by him. “Put him in irons and throw him into the dungeon. I will decide his fate later.”

“Yes, my lord,” and it was done.

Gylain gathered his troops and made for the exit. The queen of Saxony and her men still stood in front of it.

“What is your hurry?” she asked.

“Vengeance.”

“I am glad to have witnessed your strength myself, before making an alliance with you.”

“The rebels will not leave this city alive. This was a symbolic blow, but it does not diminish my power. Indeed, if the rebels had a chance against my full strength, they would have taken it.”

“Perhaps they are stronger than you think. Their leader was a cunning old fellow.”

Gylain raised his eyebrows. “Do you not know who he is?”

“I have my suspicions.”

“He is the man who abandoned your mother in her distress. Do not put your faith in him, lest he do the same to you.”

“Who, then, am I to trust? God?”

“No, not him: he is fading. Trust in me.”

She sighed and looked about the room, lost within the maze of her own mind.

“Very well,” she said, “I will trust in you.”

“Excellent,” and Gylain placed his arms upon her, pulling her forward. He kissed her like a wave makes love to the shore, and she did not pull back.

“Let us go,” he said after a moment, “We will catch them, and the master of all will prevail.”

“Gylain, the master of all,” she said solemnly. She raised her face to the sky and laughed with derision. “Yes – Gylain, the master of all.”

They hurried down the stairs with Montague and a hundred men behind them. Their strides were long and their faces drawn, as were their swords. Gylain threw open the doors to the outside and dashed down the stairs. There, in the courtyard, the stable hands had prepared their horses for riding. They feared Gylain’s strength as much as they respected it, and did not want to displease him.

“Ride to the rear of the lines,” he said to the queen, “And command the tail as you think best. Montague, do likewise with the center.” It was done as he ordered.

A group of men was battering a ram against the drawbridge, trying to break it down before their lord saw them and grew angry.

“What? Did they lock us within our own castle?” Gylain roared.

“Yes, my lord,” answered one of the men.

Gylain dismounted his horse and ran to the battering ram.

“Do not ram the drawbridge,” he cried in anger, “Or it will break and leave us within!”

He swung his powerful arm and knocked several men to the ground.

“Come to me, three of you on each end,” he said, standing in the center of the ram. When they came, the seven of them picked it up and held it above them. “Rotate,” and they did, holding it parallel to the drawbridge. “Throw!” It flew through the air and crashed into the drawbridge, hitting with its broadside. The impact knocked the drawbridge open, crashing to the ground on the other side. Before it hit, Gylain had remounted his horse and was leading the troop forward.

Then, without warning, he came to a halt.

“You, there,” he cried to the captain on the ground. “Do you see that hairy man by the catapults?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“His name is de Garcia, once the finest fighter on the earth. He is a very arduous man: even his imprisonment has not subdued him. Take him, with Leggitt, to the galleys. There we will consume their zeal.”

The captain went to fulfill his orders and Gylain crossed the drawbridge. An old man was passing by, herding a group of barrels down the river.

“Is it not late for herding barrels?” he asked sternly.