her the infant. “I don’t want our new general to worry about his son while he’s on campaign.”
Gideon regarded the woman as she took his son. The nurse cradled the child lovingly and then bowed to Mordred. “Take him away,” he said.
Gideon held Sarah and watched the woman go. She in turn looked back at him, curiously observing the macabre scene in the throne room and the ragged man’s tears as he held the woman she had known to be the child’s mother.
“Now, Gideon, I want everything to be in order,” Mordred said. “Your men will escort you and your wife’s body to see that she is buried according to your customs. I am not completely without compassion. Then, you will begin training again. Your going to need some fattening up before you ride forth to the hunt.”
Gideon only half listened to what Mordred was saying to him. As far as he was concerned his life had all but ended with Sarah’s.
FAREWELL
Gideon stood on a hill outside of the city walls of Emmanuel. Sarah’s grave lay before him covered in stones. A compliment of soldiers had obediently taken him, along with his wife’s body, to the place of his choosing outside the walls. He couldn’t stand the thought of her being left within the city with Mordred and his vile kind residing there.
He wept still, though he felt as if his tears had almost run dry. He picked up some fresh earth and squeezed it tightly in his fist. “My love, I will get our son back safely, or die trying,” he vowed. “He is all that is left worth living this life for-all that is left of our love.” He choked on the words. “Please forgive me for what I must now do.”
He sprinkled the earth across the stones. Gideon wanted to pray, but he felt like a hypocrite for even desiring it. How could he pray unto the Almighty, then turn and hunt down His Deliverer-Gideon’s own friend?
He tried to cast an eye toward the heavens, but his guilt kept him from it. He turned and walked back to the soldiers Mordred had sent with him. He mounted his horse, while the men got their equipment and cart together. He sat there in the leather saddle on a black stallion more suited to his normal size. The sun gleamed off of his crimson and black uniform-the colors of his enemies.
Gideon looked out from the hillside toward the city of Emmanuel in the near distance. “My love, one day this city will be free again. I swear it.”
The storyteller paused to take a drink from a wineskin at his side. “I think perhaps that is enough for today, children.” He took notice of several of the king’s guards strolling past. “Yes, quite enough for today.”
Being troubled by the words he had spoken this day and those left unsaid, I spoke up. “I’ve never heard these things before.”
The storyteller looked at me curiously. “Stand up, boy.” And so I did.
“What is your name, boy?”
“Phineas, sir,” I replied.
“Phineas?” Then, he took notice of my clothing, the colors involved and the style. “Phineas, Prince of Wayland?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered.
The old man smiled. “Then, young prince, I suppose a sound history lesson is very much in need.” He stood, took up his staff, and said, “Return again tomorrow and you shall have it.”
