“Almost, sir,” he answered, “But not yet. Another minute, at least.”
“Admiral,” Ivona said, coming up to him. “Admiral, Willard is not among us.” Her face was distraught and her large eyes were no longer the green of a meadow in the sun, but of a meadow after the rain.
“He will come in time,” William said.
“And if he does not?”
“Then he does not,” the Admiral said in his commanding voice, its resolve meant to build confidence. “We can only do what can be done.”
“Dear Ivona,” the black Fardy said with a compassionate look, “My brothers and I are the most patient of people, and you must join us in it. I know Willard well and ere long we will find that
Ivona smiled. “I only meant to make sure he was not forgotten,” she said. “Indeed, I am worried. But I do not take my fears to men.” She spoke calmly and her feminine strength reassured the others.
At this point, however, their dialog was interrupted. Gylain – in his towering rage – had rallied his men in the center of the hall, and now they were marching toward the rebels. They came to a stop just beyond their spears. Gylain let the grave silence permeate into the hearts of all who were present before he began to speak. His voice was loud and deep – devoid of the doubting intonations of his private dialogs and the mercy of his peaceful times. He spoke thus:
GYLAIN : For many years you have eluded my grasp. Though my fist was outstretched, you were never overtaken; though my will was set, you were not overcome. Yet now you are mine, and what irony that your own foolish plans bring you here. I will not waste time in vain speeches, nor will I sacrifice the air of my lungs to conversation. I say only this: where have your impostor king and your impostor queen led you? And where are they now, to deliver you into the lands of your fathers?
WILLIAMSTUART : I am reminded of a man I once knew, Gylain. Perhaps you have heard of him. He was handsome: well-formed after the Roman model, with a straight, angular nose, and honest eyes. His stride was long, his anger contained, his desires overcome. In a word, he was a man among men; a man destined for greatness – or for infamy. It was his choice, for his talents gave him the world.
WILLIAMSTUART : This man fought by my side in the Battle of the Beaches, when the Vikings came to plunder and pillage, to take away the freedoms which we have so long enjoyed. They had beaten us back upon the sea, until we could no longer keep them from landing. The army was decimated, not a hundred men still remaining from the thousands there once was. The Vikings were yet two thousand strong, every one of them a well-armed, beast-like man.
WILLIAMSTUART : The beach and the mainland were separated by pathless cliffs, with only a single pass through them. We stationed ourselves in that narrow pass in one last, desperate struggle to defend our homeland. They broke into a furious charge but we held them back, led on by the sword of that one man. Again and again, his sword led us forward, until at last the Vikings retreated in defeat and disgrace. We were victorious. That one man – through his zeal for his people and his king – redeemed our freedoms. So I ask you, Gylain: how did that man become the vessel through which that very king and those very freedoms were destroyed? How was your youth as zealous for your country, as your age is against it? Why, Gylain, do you persecute us?
GYLAIN : Because, William, it is my fate; and I cannot forsake the will of God.
GYLAIN [to his men]: Prepare to charge!
The soldiers raised their swords into the air and let out a horrifying roar, as if they were not men but beasts of the field. They beat their swords wildly against their shields and began to stomp upon the ground until the floor shook beneath them.
GYLAIN : Where is your king now, in your time of need? Is this where you put your faith, in a wild man with no courage; in a mere child of the forest? Where is he? Bring him forth!
“I am here, Gylain!” came a voice from above them. Everyone became silent. There – standing upon the chandeliers that hung a hundred feet above them – was a powerful man, wearing golden armor that shone in the light of the chandeliers like the rays of the sun. In his hand he held a golden sword, sparkling as with flame, and on his head he wore a golden helmet with a single, scarlet plume coming from its top.
“I have come to warn you, Gylain,” the man called out, his voice echoing through the lofty hall. “I am King Willarinus of Atilta, and this your only warning: Let my people go!”
As he spoke, Willard cut the chains which held the chandeliers and they began falling to the ground. Gylain and his men were directly underneath them. They dashed wildly to the far side of the hall. Willard stood upon the center chandelier, riding it like an eagle upon the winds, until it came within five feet of the ground. Then he leapt into the air and the force of his upward motion offset the force of his downward motion. He landed firmly upon his feet within the rebel line.
“Come, friends, now we escape!” he said, and he leapt toward the window, breaking through it and falling toward the catapults below.
“Look out below!” yelled the blond Fardy as he fell.
They fell into the gigantic buckets, each with a thud and the squeak of the catapult wheels. Willard landed and Ivona came after him. He caught her in his arms. Horatio came down a few feet over and the brown Fardy on top of him.
“I am a loyal Atiltian,” Vahan Lee said in his French accent, “But this is too much.”
“What is that?” asked the brown Fardy.
“You have landed on my legs, I fear,” said Vahan, who was partly under them – he had been in the catapult before they jumped.
At that moment, a hairy head popped up over the side of the bucket. It was de Garcia, and in his heavy, Spanish voice, he said, “All is ready? Here you go!”
Willard sat near the edge and de Garcia whispered a short sentence into his ear, such that the others could not overhear. Then, with nothing more, he unlatched the catapult’s arm and sent them flying through the air, over the tall, outer wall. They began to descend as they passed over the moat and they were just high enough to clear the buildings on the other side. Between the five buildings a huge net was spread out. It was there that they landed.
Chapter 43
The net they landed on was made of ropes; those at the edge were two feet thick. It was secured to five houses, connected by a metal ring on the end of each corner rope. As they landed, it was pushed down almost fifty feet, until its elasticity overcame the force of their impact and they shot upwards again. They bounced up and down a dozen times – each with lessening height – until they came to a stop and sat upon the net. Men on the housetops released two of the sides, creating a rope ladder to the ground.
“Hurry, Gylain will be after us,” Willard said as he climbed down, agile even in his heavy armor.
“You’ll be traveling in the French fashion, now,” Clifford said, still dressed as the barrel shepherd. He stood on the porch of the house nearest the river. “Follow!” and he disappeared into the house.
They followed him through the outer door and into a sort of storage basement to the left. It was down several feet – to the level of the ground outside – and was found in all buildings that bordered the river. Several barrels stood upside down on the floor, their bottoms open. Across from the stairs there was a lowered section in the floor, five feet square, with a broad stairway descending to its bottom. It was filled with water. There was a short tunnel on the outside wall, half filled with water and opening into the river. It was the hole through which the barrels were pushed into the river.
“Into the barrels, friends,” Clifford said.
They crammed themselves hastily into the barrels, for they were still just outside the castle and the pursuit could not be long in coming. When each was safely inside, Clifford went around and sealed the ends. Horatio was given a much larger barrel to fit his much larger size.
“All right, here we go,” and Clifford began rolling them into the tunnel. There was a grating on the far end, which opened from the outside and kept them from floating away. When he was done, Clifford ran around to the riverside and opened it, letting them out. He caught them with his long pole and kept them in a group until the last one floated out.
“Here we go,” he said again, and set off down the river with thirty barrels in tow.
To reach the Floatings, Clifford had to take the barrels past the castle gates and under the drawbridge. He was a strong-willed man, and to even the most careful observer he did not appear worried or guilty, as an ordinary
