Osbert fell to the ground, overcome with grief.
“No, it is not that,” Alfonzo smiled weakly. “It is something that promises of evil far greater than that; for what you think is a personal tragedy, while this subdues the hearts of all. No, my friends, that is not what this note reveals. Indeed, it contains but two words: De Casanova.”
“De Casanova!” cried Lord Milada from his bed.
He did not finish his thought, but each in the room knew what it was.
“Blaine, the Admiral has sent a verbal message, has he not? There are things which are sealed better with the lips, than the pen.”
“Gylain prepares to attack and Hibernia is with him,” and Blaine continued to report what he had reported to the Admiral before.
When Blaine had finished, Alfonzo said, “Within five days we will have the whole force of the enemy outside these walls and only our meager rebellion inside them.” He paused, looking into the darkness beyond the window. “Yet still we can win, so let us prepare. Osbert, Blaine – there will be no rest for us, now. Summon the officers to the great hall at dawn, for I will lay out our plans then.”
“Yes, sir,” the two chorused, and they left the room to carry out their orders.
“Hold on, you have given your word,” Oren Lorenzo cried as they rushed past him.
“And so we must break it, friend,” Blaine said. “For in five days as many thousands of men will march through the forest to our walls, and the navies of two maritime powers will be anchored on the bay, with Gylain and the King of Hibernia at their head!”
“So it has come,” Lorenzo moaned. “The final battle has begun. Yet will the deluge come as well?”
As Blaine and Osbert left, Alfonzo sat down beside Milada. It was the same room in which Milada had been wounded, though it had been rebuilt by the zealous townsfolk. At this time, it was lit by only a flickering lantern, making the stone walls seem a wild man’s cave. The stained-glass window that faced north – to Thunder Bay – had been replaced with a clear-paned window and opened the tower to a view of the surrounding countryside. The lights of the town were out. In the darkness even the castle below them could not be seen. Instead, the tower seemed to float aloft, towering above the ground like a cloud or a star. Yet though they sat in the heavens it was not paradise; for Milada’s wound had been slowly destroying him. It was nearly closed on the outside, but on the inside his stomach had been pierced and could not be reclosed by the methods of man.
“Can it be, old friend?” Milada moaned as his arms moved weakly across the surface of the bed. “Can it be, that Atilta has come to the end? De Casanova is here and his king soon after. The nobles were our only hope, yet they have deserted us; and I am too weak to exhort them.” He was silent for a moment. “And my lovely Ivona! To what have I sent her? She wanted to serve God, and I man; and if she was wrong, I was equally foolish. A woman is a weaker vessel, but what is the strongest vessel, if it holds no water? And Ivona holds wine and honey. She is a weaker vessel, perhaps, but what do we cherish: the crystal cup or the wooden? I have pushed her into something which bodes ill for us all, and above all for her. She will not die, but her innocence will be lost.”
“Will she be guilty, then? One can be both innocent and seasoned. Do not curse yourself, Milada, for she is pure – and God, in his justice, will reward her in full.”
“God? You are as naive as my daughter, Alfonzo. If God were so mighty and just, would we not but trust in him and be saved? If so, then why do you fight? Look around you, man! Where is the greatness of God? Is he in the children who starve in the villages, or in the broken women who sell their souls to the rich men? Is he in the murderous soldiers who keep the peace (from existing), or in the fat priests who confess all sins but their own? God, you say; but I know of no God.”
Alfonzo smiled, but in pity rather than amusement. “God is in the back of our eyelids. We will not see until we forsake the physical, and draw our sight from another source.”
“Yet I am already overdrawn.”
“You always will be, on your own account. But I say it is good that de Casanova has come to Atilta, for Willard has sent him running away. Victory is already with us.” He paused, then added, “But the diplomat must ask: where is Patrick McConnell? I do not know of his intent, but he has raised the English against their oppressors; and if the nobles are too interested in the current regimes to join us, the peasants will not be. It would be good if he were in France, and if the king befriended him.”
“It would grow to be good in the future, you mean, yet we need allies in the present. The yoke of Charlemagne has finally been broken and Rome no longer rules the seas. Venice is not a military power. The way is open to freedom. The people will be free, in the end; but will it be worth the price? Is freedom what we think it is? We will see, for the precipice is past and the ground will come whether we desire it or not. When the tide breaks, what will be written in the sands? Nothing, I should think. Therefore, let us forget the philosophical and spend our energies on the military.” Milada sighed. “But our energies must mean your own, for I have none.”
“I will not be alone. Blaine is here and can organize the forest resistance with Osbert’s assistance. With a few forest rangers, they can delay Gylain’s land force. And with the time gained, Lorenzo and myself will have constructed a fortification to prevent a forced landing. If the fleet cannot land, they cannot besiege the castle. As for the soldiers,” Alfonzo continued, “More will come from all across Atilta, as the messengers reach them. Let us hope the entire forest rises up to join us. Even now our blacksmiths are toiling away, night and day, to make weapons for the host. Let us hope there are men to wield them.”
“For a man who claims God, you are surprisingly reliant on the instruments of war.”
Alfonzo looked out the window for a moment, then replied, “Yes, I am. And even as I am, I know they will not redeem us. Yet I cannot see what
Chapter 58
“Patrick McConnell rescued by Willard Plantagenet? It would be better for you if you lied to me, than if what you have said is true!” Gylain was furious with de Casanova’s report.
Three men – Gylain, de Casanova, and Jonathan Montague – stood in the unfurnished cathedral that served as Gylain’s quarters. The sun came right at the stained-glass window and its colorful diffusion made the room bright like the sky before a storm. De Casanova had arrived only moments before, followed by Blaine until he entered the castle gates.
The lofty ceiling – a hundred feet above them – subdued the character of the room, strengthened by the utter lack of furniture other than the rough writing desk. Gylain sat behind it and Jonathan in front, both on slight stools. De Casanova paced in front of the window, his face condensed and dripping. He had not slept or eaten since his defeat, but his main ailment was terror. He was not used to being bested in a melee in which he held the advantage.
“Yet what could I have done?” he thought in the silence. “They were men of power, each my equal in combat. Together they were unstoppable.” Aloud, he said, “I swear to you Gylain, by all that you hold sacred.”
“Then you swear in vain, for I hold nothing sacred. I am a beast, as is the God who created me. Yet I believe you, so continue.”
“I make no excuses, for all that can be said is that their strength exceeded my own. Still, this is much against us: the King of Atilta, the rebel of England, the second man of France, and your own deputy, allied together. And who bore swords with them, but the great de Garcia. This is an omen of ill for us!”
“It was not planned, de Casanova,” said Jonathan. “It was merely chance, the fortunes of war, as they say.”
“But even then: can we battle the fortunes of war as well as our enemies?”
“The
“Silence!” cried Gylain, “Do not speak of what you do not know.”
“I am wrong, my lord,” Montague bowed in humility. “I spoke idly, forgive me.”
There was a brief silence, broken by de Casanova. “How do you know it is but fate that favors them? Do you divine their thoughts, Montague?”
“No, though I bedevil them. What I meant to say is this: it was only a spontaneous decision that put Leggitt on the galley, where he met Patrick and de Garcia. It was chance, and chance may favor us as well – if we allow it,” and he looked cautiously at Gylain. Yet Gylain was staring absently at the window.
The following silence was only shattered by a loud knock from the door to the secret passage. Gylain awoke and darted up from his desk. “Enter,” and it was evident he was eager to receive an expected communication.
The door swung open and Gylain’s page came in with a brisk, assured step.
