caught in the midst of my treasons, they threw me into jail – not the secure dungeon, but the city jail. The king sought to save me from the mistreatment of the guards whom I had plotted against. What foolishness, what naivety! From the city jail I was easily rescued by those in my confidence, and when Queen Casandra arrived, the time was ready for the revolution. Men put altogether too much faith in women.”
He arose and went to the window, where he stood and looked into its kaleidoscope patterns. “The coup did break her, though,” he muttered to himself, “It only weakened her spirit. After all those years of loving the Admiral, she turned on him viscously, and the shame broke her, made her fall into the foul hands of her conscience. It was her destiny, though, and how can you disagree with God’s plan? Admiral Stuart was always away on duty, doing this or that. She longed for his presence, but he never returned for more than a few weeks at a time, and then was gone for months. Love is a dangerous thing, and between it and hate there is little difference. They are two sides of the same thing; two in person, one in essence. Its passion to serve can quickly change into a passion to resist. Her love soured into hate, and she began to despise him and everything he represented. Together, we fell into treason and immorality.”
Gylain put his hand into the air and imitated picking fruit from a tree. “We fell from Eden.”
But then he pretended to throw it to the floor. “Yet she was not consistent in her hatred. Even in her passion she was never unfaithful to him. She never loved me the way I desired; she never completely forsook herself.”
He walked closer to the stained-glass window and ran his hand over one of its intricate depictions.
“At first, she was all I wanted,” he said, “Then I came to hate William myself. Yet I was eluded by them both. Celestine was so similar to her and so I loved her as well. But once more her faithfulness was too strong. Perhaps the younger daughter will love me as I desire.”
He paused and began playing with his beard in a thoughtful manner.
“Yet her love is not what drives me, nor her mother’s, nor the hatred of William. They were never the purpose but only the door; never the ends but only means. God cruelly uses us, his creation, who are unable to strike him back upon his divine cheek. The poor are swept away and have not the power to resist the dictates of his feudal fate. Who, then, can stand against him? Who can rise up and secure the freedoms of his fellow humans? It is I. The rebels oppose me, fighting for their earthly freedom, while I put our strengths together to fight our divine dictator. They are fools to hinder me.”
He raised his head to the heavens and scowled.
“God places authority in certain men, that they may oppress their fellows and thereby represent his own oppressions. He puts kings over countries not to keep the peace, but to break it. For God is not peace, but war. He is chaos and hatred, and authority is what he gives to those whom he would use to show his oppressions. In my youth, I was a foolish boy. I thought I could overthrow the king and with him God’s authority. I thought I could take the reigns of oppression in my own hands and bring them to a standstill. But look about me! I have myself become the vehicle of his evils. I cannot defeat him, for he uses me against myself!
“So I pursue William, knowing him to be the manifestation of God’s judgment on me. If I cannot kill God, I can kill those he sends. And so I seduced Casandra, and so I will seduce Cybele. I care nothing for them and nothing against William. But as far as they are used by God, I will oppose them and bring them to destruction. Look at this, cruel dictator! Can you see what is happening, oh God, from your heavenly Hades? I will bring your judgment upon yourself. I will defeat your will by defeating those who carry it out – even if it means destroying myself. You have flooded before, and the deluge will come yet again; for you are, of all things, a liar. But let it come, I say. Let it come!”
He was interrupted by a knocking on his door.
“Enter,” he called out loudly, heated by his monologued prayer.
Leggett, the captain of the castle guards, came in. He was of the average height, well-built, and had a short goatee. His dark hair was set back in a curly mass above his head.
“My lord,” he bowed, “I have come, as you commanded.”
Gylain looked at him blankly for a moment. Then, as if just remembering, said, “Ah, of course. Come, sit down and speak with me.” He pointed Leggett to the chair beside the desk, and both of them sat down.
“What I wanted to discuss with you, Leggett, was the security of the castle. You know that the Queen of Saxony is coming within the week. I want her to be welcomed graciously and securely. The feast is prepared and ready to be presented in a moment’s notice. But we have had rebel communications intercepted, speaking of an infiltration of some sort. We must be ready from now until the queen leaves. What is the situation?”
“The only way into the castle is over the outer wall, or through the gate, and neither of those is vulnerable,” Leggett answered. “There are constant patrols along the parapets of the walls, two men to a patrol and three patrols at any minute circling the castle. The gate is guarded by twenty men. Once inside the courtyard, there are two troops of fifty men each stationed on either side, in garrisons where they will live until the queen is gone. From these they can be easily awoken to defense by the numerous sentries. The dungeon has few guards, to make up for the greater numbers elsewhere. But to reach it the rebels will have to get through the wall guards first. As for the castle itself, Nicholas Montague stands ready to command the outside garrison when the queen arrives. It is our plan to keep the guards on outside duty until the queen arrives, then move them onto the walls and the gates. The rest will be sent to the Great Hall. Is it well, my lord?”
“Yes,” Gylain mumbled, his mind still troubled about the security, but realizing that nothing else could be done. If William Stuart was near, his anger would be boiling. Gylain knew him well from before his treason: the Admiral was one to put a facade of patience over his anger but to never lose the anger itself. His rage would grow until it could be used wisely. Gylain had used his wife to overthrow his friend and king, had seduced her, and was having his daughter and son-in-law executed. Furthermore, he allied himself with William’s youngest daughter, Cybele, the Queen of Saxony. Gylain was afraid of William, perhaps, but his fear seemed only to invigorate his hate and his power.
“Sir?” Leggett asked as Gylain stared blankly into the space in front of him.
“Hmm? Ah, yes. Good work, Leggett, I am not disappointed; you may go now.”
“Yes, sir,” and with that, Leggett bowed and exited the room. “We will see how pleased he truly is,” Leggitt whispered as he left. “By all appearances, the castle is safe; but appearances can mean little. Let the rebels come, I say.”
Just as he went, a courier came running into the room from the secret passage. It was Roberts, Gylain’s page. Gylain turned to him as he came in and said, with an almost parental tone, “What is it, Roberts?”
“The queen, sir, she’s come – arrived I mean, just now.”
“What? The Queen of Saxony here already? Fetch Montague from the dungeons and have him forgo the executions today. Perhaps he will get to them later. Be sure that he is presentable. Hurry, lad.”
Roberts dashed off down the stairs to do his bidding and Gylain himself was not far behind. The stairway of the secret passage was only two feet wide and the incline was steep, for it traveled the same height as the outer stairway, but with a much smaller circumference. They went down about six hundred feet, finding at the bottom the small anteroom behind the throne. Gylain’s most striking feature was his countenance, for a man of his position and disposition would be thought to have a cruel face. But his was handsome and open – in appearance, an honorable, upright man – though he was troubled within about his purpose. Still, he did not stop to groom himself in the anteroom, but rushed through the Great Hall to the courtyard, stopping for only a moment to don the crown. He reached the drawbridge just as Nicholas Montague was arriving from the dungeon, whose door came out into the courtyard beside the castle.
“Lower the drawbridge,” Gylain commanded the soldiers guarding it.
“Yes, sir,” and the heavy wooden door began to lower.
As it was doing so, Gylain turned to Montague and talked to him in a low voice that could not be overheard. “Remember, Nicholas, manners and nicety are the orders of the day. Do not talk of the rebels, the hunt for the Holy Graal, or the recent return of Admiral Stuart. Above all, do not mention the prisoners.”
“Of course, my lord. Is it not I, the man of tact?” he laughed to himself in sarcasm. “When will my brother return?”
“He is on a patrol with the harbor fleet, but I expect him back before the night is through.”
By that time the drawbridge was lowered. There was a troop of twenty horsemen on the other side, waiting for an old barrel shepherd to pass by. In a moment he was gone and the horsemen came forward, led by a beautiful woman and a fiercesome man riding on an enormous black bear. They crossed the river, coming to a stop in front of Gylain and Montague. Both bowed.
