“Are you proclaiming yourself a more patient man than I? For my own sake, I would not care at all, my brother. But I cannot allow you to lose your reward in heaven, by gaining it here on earth!”
“Gentleness runs in my veins,” the blond Fardy returned, “But not nearly so much as blood. If I must have one or the other, let it be the latter!” He saw the spanker boom’s sheet – the rope that kept it from spinning around – and dashed to untie it.
Just as he did, a strong burst of wind came over the troubled waters, catching the spanker sail and throwing the boom in the opposite direction. If it had still been secured, the result would have been no more than a ripple on its surface. But when the wind’s strength was hurled against it with no resistance, the boom swung around its axis with a vengeance. The black Fardy had succeeded in lighting the candlewicks, and was on his knees, looking for a dropped match. The blond Fardy was on the ground, having dove to undo it. The brown Fardy, on the other hand, was on the same side as the wind, and could not be hit. Thus, the boom flew without impediment and crashed into the two barrels: the candlewicks – now burning – and the bottles of whale oil. They flew over the taffrail and fell toward the sea on the other side of the deck.
But the barrels did not reach the sea. One of the enemy longboats had moored against the ship, preparing to board, and sat between the falling barrels and the sea. In the first instant, the bottles of whale oil fell from the barrel onto the longboat’s floor, shattering as they hit. In the second instant, the burning candlewicks came from the second barrel, landing on the spilled whale oil. In the third instant, the longboat burst into flames, the explosion shooting the broken glass at the boarders. They leapt into the sea in terror and were immediately swallowed.
“Enemy boats boarding!” chorused the Fardy brothers as they retied the spanker boom.
Seeing they were discovered, the rest of Gylain’s men boarded at once. There were thirty of them – toward the front of the ship – with Gylain and the Montague brothers at their head.
“Come about!” the Admiral roared.
His crew obeyed, and they swung around roughly, almost tipping the ship. But the Admiral’s calculations were exact, and they turned as sharply as they could. The enemy fleet was caught by surprise and had to part in the middle to allow
Gylain parted from his companions and went to fight the Admiral. The Montague brothers also left to seek out Willard. The rest of the soldiers formed a tight circle in the center of the ship, with the main body of the rebels around them. Their fight was bloody and desperate, each man fighting for all that was dear to him – on one side freedom and family, and on the other plunder and rapine.
Willard saw the Montague brothers coming toward him and took his position upon the stern, waiting calmly. Horatio was at his side. Willard sent him away: “Horatio, my brother, the fate that awaits me does not await you as well. Go, and let me die alone.” Horatio obeyed, walking off and hiding behind a group of barrels.
At that moment, Nicholas and Jonathan Montague appeared. Jonathan had his dark hair cut short and combed forward at the temples, while Nicholas wore it combed backwards. In all other features, they were as closely related.
“We meet for the second time tonight,” Nicholas said. “But I fear you will not escape me this time.”
“Would you, then, forsake honor and fight a single sword with two?” Willard asked.
“We have long ago forsaken honor, fool,” was the answer. “But if you prefer, then let it be,” and Jonathan took the extra sword he wore upon his back and threw it to Willard. The latter caught it between his thumb and forefinger, without cutting himself upon the blade.
As soon as he wielded both swords, they were upon him. The Montague brothers fought in unison, first with a downward blow. Willard parried them both, and they struck again from the sides, each coming in at Willard. That is, they would have come into him, had not Willard leapt forward – spinning in the air and landing behind their backs. He could not bring his sword down on them before they turned, so he pushed his shoulder into Jonathan and forced him into the cruel waves below. Nicholas, however, would not allow his brother to be destroyed. He gave Willard a fierce blow and knocked him backwards. Then, with the time he gained, threw several barrels to his brother. Jonathan set himself upon these and floated with the waves, until he was rescued by the fleet.
“You grow stronger with fatigue,” Nicholas said as they circled about one another.
“And you weaker,” Willard returned with a scornful laugh, meant to inflame his adversary’s anger and push him to recklessness.
Montague, however, was already inflamed and fully reckless. He rushed toward Willard with fire in his eyes and lightning in his hands, pushing him back against the mizzenmast with a series of scissor strikes. Willard could not retreat, so he stood his ground and parried the blows. Yet with each successive blow, the king became weaker and weaker. He had done too much without resting, and after his final outburst against Jonathan he had no strength left to withstand the heated attacks of Nicholas. At length, his sword fell from his hand, and he was left leaning against the mizzenmast, with Montague’s sword pushing against his chest.
“We come to the end,” Nicholas said, his bosom heaving. “But I will not prolong it, for fear you will yet escape me. Farewell, my king,” he laughed, and he raised his sword above his head to strike Willard down.
Yet at that very moment a prodigious roar sounded behind him. It made the sea look calm in contrast, and the lightning as but a chance ray of the sun. Montague felt two massive claws grip him. Then he was picked up and thrown headlong into the sea.
“Horatio,” Willard said slowly, as if in weakness, “You are a bear among men.”
Willard rose to his feet and walked to the taffrail, looking out upon the water. There, struggling to keep himself above the surface, was Nicholas Montague. He saw Willard looking at him, yet he would not beg for mercy. He would rather die than humble himself. Willard hesitated for a moment, then took a barrel from the ground and threw it to him. Nicholas swam to it, calling out to Willard.
“Why do you spare my life? I would not have done the same to you.”
“There is a way that seems right to a man,” Willard called back, “But in the end it leads to death,” and he turned away from the sea.
Ivona stood behind him. She smiled, and her face became more beautiful. She was innocent in her joy. Advancing to Willard, she embraced him, and he held her close to his heart. Yet neither of them spoke. For there was nothing to be said.
Unfortunately for the rebels, all had not gone as well for them elsewhere. The enemy soldiers, circled closely together, were able to withstand their advances. It was a contest that could not be decided by anything but the passage of time. Both sides were formed to repel attacks and neither would risk a charge. So it became a stalemate, a test of patience and of wills.
Yet things went worse with the Admiral as he battled Gylain at the bow. Their swords flew like hail and flashed like lightening. Gylain came on first, lunging forward with a desperate thrust. William knocked it to the left and came forward with a side-swing that Gylain ducked, and it passed over his head. Before William contained his swing, Gylain lunged forward again. William dodged to the left, but lost his balance slightly, giving his enemy time to recover. Gylain advanced again with a series of blows, but the Admiral caught himself and parried them, returning the last with his own. This blow Gylain deflected, and made a thrust at the other’s chest. But William was too quick, and he knocked Gylain’s sword away from its intended path, instead bringing his own down toward his enemy’s head. Now it was Gylain’s turn to dodge, and he pivoted on his left foot – rolling to the Admiral’s back – where he let his sword fall upon him. It did not hit, though, for William had rolled to the right and now faced Gylain, who was recovering his sword from his false blow.
“I will have you, old man,” Gylain said as they struggled.
“Only in death,” was the answer.
Their swords clashed once more in a flurry of strikes and counterstrikes.
“I will have my revenge for Casandra,” the Admiral said.
“Then you must seek her grave and not mine, for she acted of her own will.”
“Under the influence of your wicked heart.”
“No, but under the influence of another.”
“Speak not against my love!” and William leapt forward with a tremendous blow to Gylain. The latter caught it with his blade, and – catching the Admiral’s on its side – twisted his own, knocking his opponent’s to the ground.
