The Forgotten King

himself, seemed an interesting man. But his job required a pedantic, inhuman veneer, so he made himself inhuman.

“Vahanlee, sir,” he bowed, “You have returned.”

“I have, Carleton. These are my companions.”

“You can pass, sir.”

“Good day, then, Carleton.”

“Same to you, your highness.”

Vahan walked gracefully forward, indwelled with the superiority of his importance. He continued silently until they reached the far door, when he turned to them and spoke in a confidential voice:

“I will get you whatever you need for the journey: men or supplies – nothing is beyond my reach. And I will have it by dawn tomorrow. Fear not, for France is mine.”

Without waiting for their reply, Vahan opened the door and led them into the city. But they did not go far, for there – standing in a ring before them – were de Casanova, Vladimir, Leggitt, de Garcia, and a half dozen mounted soldiers.

“We are betrayed!” Vahan whispered, “De Garcia is against us!”

Then – in his deep, kingly voice – Willard spoke: “Silence, there! By whose right do you lift your sword, vagabond? By king or by tyrant? If by the first, I command you to heave away and flee to your den. But if by the second, then I command you to turn your face to me, for I dislike to strike down a man from behind!”

It was as if the riders had not expected them, for Vladimir’s horse reared in fright and even de Casanova fell back. De Garcia and Leggitt, however, seemed to take courage at their arrival and drew their swords with a spirited relish.

“Forgive me,” Vahan whispered, “I spoke before I saw, and that is a sin in politics.”

He did not hesitate, but threw off his hood and stepped forward, laughing at de Casanova.

“I am loyal, without a doubt,” he said, “But you are dead!”

Chapter 55

For an instant, de Casanova could not move. He stood there dazed, raising his sword to a defensive position. Then, in the next instant, he regained his composure and bravado, and by his example his men did the same. He leapt forward with his sword above his head and struck at Willard. Yet before the blow had fallen, Willard had also drawn his sword and held it above him at an upward angle. The blow dispersed into his tree-like arm. He stepped forward to thrust his sword at his undefended adversary. De Casanova recovered his blade enough to knock the thrust aside, but in his haste he hit it downwards and it pierced into his leg. He fell back several strides from the others and awaited Willard’s advance in a crouching position.

Willard rushed him with a calm fury – zealous in his swing, yet cautious in his stride. Their swords met above their heads and they grappled for moment. Neither could force the other down, but de Casanova surrendered the match by using his sword to kick himself into Willard, who stumbled. And though it took de Casanova a moment to recall himself from his forward momentum, it took Willard longer to raise himself from the ground. While he held the advantage, therefore, de Casanova fell upon Willard with a series of down swings, made stronger by his anger at being surprised. Yet Willard was as stalwart as the trees of his youth. As de Casanova loaded him with vicious downward swings, Willard skillfully caught his blade and diverted them to the ground without weakening himself. After ten such blows, de Casanova grew weary.

Willard leapt up as de Casanova slowed, rolling to his right. The other’s blade plowed forward into the open air and could not be stopped until it ran into the ground. Willard, meanwhile, came up behind him and held his sword to the back of his neck.

“So you see,” Willard said, “The side of right prevails.”

“Perhaps,” returned the other, “But I am not always in the wrong.”

“You have done many things, I am told.”

“But what have you seen ? A wise man does not judge without witnesses.”

“Yet I do not claim to be wise. Still, have you not attacked de Garcia, my comrade?”

De Casanova laughed and looked to the others, who were still engaged in a thick melee. The ringing of blades was such that their conversation could not be overheard.

“De Garcia, your comrade?” he asked with an innocent, unaffected laugh. “I must confess, until you came forward there was no battle. I thought him to be my comrade.”

Willard hesitated, “Is Leggitt your comrade as well?”

“I thought so, but enemies will be friends and friends will be enemies.”

“You speak in riddles.”

“Only to those who refuse the truth,” said de Casanova, having only a vague understanding of what had taken place in Castle Plantagenet.

“Go on.”

“Would Gylain let you escape only to plant a spy in your midst?”

“For little purpose, since he was not with us,” Willard said. “De Garcia left Atilta as Gylain’s prisoner.”

“Convincing evidence, to be sure,” and de Casanova pretended to be confused. “I never thought Gylain to be a merciful man, to let live those who thwart him as de Garcia has.”

“And you, I suppose, are merciful? I have heard of Lady Milada’s murder.”

“We have all heard many things, I am sure,” de Casanova smiled. “Did you not hear who carried out that murder?”

“No, only that it was of your devising.”

“Then I will not be the one to tell you,” and de Casanova looked at the others who still fought, focusing his eyes on de Garcia. “No, I will not be the one to tell you of your comrades .”

“Very well,” Willard said quietly. He waited, then added, “My friends are still in battle: will you give me your word of honor to stay here, as a conquered man?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“So it will be,” Willard withdrew his sword from de Casanova’s neck. “Be here when I return and we will speak more of this.”

Willard turned his back to de Casanova and his face to the battle. The latter, when he was free, crept into the side-street and was seen no more.

The others had been close to defeating the soldiers already and with Willard’s help the end came at once. Only two of the soldiers were yet alive, along with their commander, Vladimir.

“It is done,” Willard said as he sheathed his sword.

“But de Casanova is not,” de Garcia answered.

Willard turned to where he had left his prisoner. He was not there. Willard laughed to himself, smiling.

“A strange way to mourn the escape of an enemy,” de Garcia said.

“Perhaps, but it is the return of a friend that I celebrate.”

“Since my redemption I have never left your service, my lord.”

“But de Casanova insisted otherwise; he insinuated things to your dishonor. But he, himself, has now proved the veracity of his claims, and it is he who is the liar,” Willard said.

“Not every insinuation is a lie, even from a liar’s tongue,” de Garcia hung his head.

“Yet the past will not return. Now, as to Leggitt?”

“The past will not return, my lord.”

“True, and if Leggitt is with us now, I will say no more.”

“He is not only with us now,” Ivona said, “But he was with us before. My father has for many years received secret reports from Leggitt, the head of Gylain’s guards. They have been of the greatest value to the rebellion. Though your service has been unknown until now, Leggitt, I thank you for it nonetheless. You are a valiant man.” She bowed lowly to Leggitt, with such sincerity that the battle-hardened spy felt a foreign emotion: a tear glided down his terse cheek.

“My life is nothing,” he answered softly, and the others turned their heads in respect.

“We must part at last, Vahan,” Willard said through the silent spell.

“Remember that I am loyal to Atilta as much as to France,” he said. “De Casanova knows of your arrival, however, so you can no longer wait to be equipped. I will send a battalion after Montague – with orders to take him to the gallows without question – but you must equip yourself with this,” and he handed Willard a large bag of gold