Just then, the deer ran quickly from the field in a fright.
“They have seen us,” Ivona said.
“No, but they have seen another,” Willard answered, pointing to the far end of the meadow. “A troop of horseman advances from the far side,” and he stood to get a better view. “It is the Elite Guard, and they go to execute a man!”
Chapter 23
Twenty black-clad horsemen rode into the meadow. They were well-equipped in the accouterments of war, with steel shields the length of their upper bodies, plate armor and a plumed helmet, swords at their sides, and spears on their backs. It was a battalion of Gylain’s Elite Guard. They were a fluid body, moving as one into the desired formation: a fifty foot circle. As there were only twenty horsemen, there were gaps in this circle, and it was possible to see into its center. The leader dismounted first, carrying a double-headed ax. Two of his lieutenants followed him, the first carrying a wooden platform and the second a shriveled old man.
“Jack Clifford!” whispered Ivona, “They have Jack Clifford, the king’s jester!”
“The joke’s on him, if we do nothing, for they are about to execute him.”
“Yet we
“Yes,” he answered. “Climb this tree, until you have a good view of the field. Shoot whoever tries to execute him. In the meantime, Horatio and I will see what we can do.”
“Just a moment,” Ivona turned and dashed up the tree. She stopped at the first branch and looked down at Willard, “You have no chance of victory, Willard.”
“Not if I meant to fight them. But Blaine Griffith is nearby, and he would not let the Elite Guards dash about the forest without his supervision. We need only to keep Clifford alive until Blaine and his men arrive.”
“And if they do not show themselves?”
“Then we fight.”
Willard and Horatio drew their hoods over their faces, and Willard hid his sword in the folds of his frock. They took to the open field, walking slowly and meditatively with their hands linked together in front of them under their baggy sleeves. At first they pretended not to notice the horsemen, until they were sure they had been sighted and their coming awaited. Then, with a slow nod, they acknowledged the presence of the riders and continued on toward them at the slowest pace possible. The leader of the Elite Guards realized he could not execute Clifford until the two monks came up, for religious reasons, and grew impatient.
“Hurry there, you bloated bullhorns. I haven’t got a thousand years.”
“A thousand years are as a day, and a day is as a thousand years,” Willard called back.
“Blasted monks,” muttered the leader, and he resigned himself to wait until they arrived.
A moment passed before the so-called monks reached them, and as they waited the riders stood with an impatient smirk upon their faces. When at last the two reached the circle, their leader hailed them.
“Hello there, monks,” he said, “What is it that you want?”
“We smelled death upon the wind this morning, sir, and have come to collect that which is God’s.”
“That is churchmen for you, arriving just as there is money to be had. But you had best be on your way, friends, for this poor fellow is just that – a poor fellow.”
“I meant his soul.”
“Indeed? You can have that, if he gives it. You have my leave to take it, at least.” The horseman laughed, “For he has suffered enough.” It was evident from his appearance that Clifford had been severely beaten.
“May we take him aside privately, and offer him his last rights?”
“If you must, but in the center of our circle, at the platform.”
Willard and Horatio took Clifford by the arms and led him to the center of the circle, where their whispers could not be overheard. The old jester was haggard and dazed, but his wits still seemed to be with him. And a man with his wits is never alone.
“How are you holding up, old fellow?” Willard questioned in a friendly manner.
Clifford looked at him with confusion, searching his face for a moment before his mouth slipped up into a beaming smile and he exclaimed, “By God, its the king!”
The jester remembered Alfonzo’s account, and recognized the grown man whom he had once known as a child. Willard, however, thought the beatings had bruised his brain and left him with visions. He thought it best to let him think what he would.
“Yes, I am the king. We must escape, though.”
“Time’s up!” roared the leader of the horseman as he started toward them. He grabbed Clifford with his burly hands and pushed him down onto the wooden platform. He took the ax from his side and raised it above his head to bring it down on Clifford’s neck.
An arrow flew from the upper branches of the willow tree and struck the commander in the back. In pain, he hurled his ax into the air and cried out, “By the king’s men!” The ax thus thrown flew through the air until it came to rest on the head of one of the lieutenants, putting a swift end to his life.
In the confusion, Willard cried out, “The king has returned, and he is coming with a hundred hardy men! Run! Run and warn Gylain!”
The effect was instantaneous. The riders fled in every direction. One of them rode his horse past the commander, sending him to the ground in a whelp of pain.
“Come back here, you cowards!” he cried, “Reform the ranks!”
He was a powerful man, even in such a compromised situation, and at the call of his voice the men returned. Two had been shot down by Ivona. By the time they were reassembled another had fallen, and the arrows still came swiftly.
“Look, fools!” the commander yelled to his men, “It is only a single archer, in that tree. Go, bring him to me!”
The remaining fifteen men, not including the commander, galloped straight at the tree. Within a moment they had Ivona on the ground and in their hands, and started back to where the commander had sat.
Yet he was no longer alive. When the horsemen galloped off, Willard drew his sword from the folds of his robe and plunged it into the wounded man’s chest. Then, quickly looking about him, he concealed it in his frock once more. He went over to the commander’s body and pretended to worry over him, as if his wound had caused his death. They made no attempt to flee.
The riders returned with Ivona prisoner to where their commander lay dead. With the commander and first lieutenant dead, it was a young man who found himself in charge, and he had not yet the strength of mind to control his anger.
“You will pay for this with your lives!” he shouted.
“I doubt that,” Clifford answered.
“Why, you senseless old man, I should have killed you when I had the chance!” he raised his sword to strike the jester down.
“Yes, you should have!” laughed Clifford.
The lieutenant stopped his swing in the air. “Why the devil do you say that?”
“Because of this!”
Clifford took the fallen commander’s ax from behind his back, striking the young lieutenant at the joint in the greave of his armor. The ax tore through the weak point in the plate, and drove deeply into his leg. The young man, yelling in pain, swung at Clifford again. The old man closed his eyes and prepared for the fatal blow to come.
But it never did. Instead, the clash of swords rang through the air. Willard came up behind Clifford and extended his blade to absorb the blow. The young lieutenant held him in a deadly grapple: Willard was far stronger, yet the horseman had the advantage of height. Another of the riders came up to help the lieutenant, but Horatio mauled him as he approached. The horse of the rider, frightened at the bear’s sudden appearance, dashed wildly forward. The lieutenant was directly in front of him and caught the sharp side of the rider’s spear right through his helmet.
Thus fell the other lieutenant, yet things were still grim for the loyalists, for they were outnumbered fourteen-to-four. The riders formed a circle about them and prepared to strike. One of the veteran soldiers pulled them together, to outmaneuver their land-locked opponents and not allow them to attack one at a time. Slowly the circle closed around the four.
“It is an honor to die alongside the King of Atilta, my lord,” Clifford said as they came on.
