the blow had been intended. His quick eye let him dodge it, yet when he saw what was happening, he reached out his hand and caught the blade mid-air. He groaned slightly as the sword came down, but his dark, Spanish face with its hooked nose did not grimace. For a second, the sword continued its course toward Celestine, then – just before it struck – the soldier’s hand brought it safely to a stop, hitting her back with a harmless thud.
Nothing was heard over the man’s breathing. He did not move his hand, though all the eyes were fixed upon it like a ship upon the water. His fingers remained tightly clenched around the blade and a small stream of blood flowed from his hand onto the back of Celestine’s peasant cloak, which soaked it up like a sponge.
“Well?” Cybele was the first to speak, “Remove your hand, or are you a dramatist?” Failure prodded her to anger.
“Madam, I cannot.”
“You must, fool! Can you not see we are taken? The crew has risen and the Marin is the Fardys’ once more, so release the sword and be bound. Perhaps the crew will show mercy for your sacrifice, or perhaps they will despise you for scourging her beforehand.”
The soldier bowed his head in submission and lifted his arm from Celestine’s back. The palm of the hand rose with it, but the portion from the knuckles upward remained grasping the sword. Around him, the crew was still silent, awed by his quick response to the badly aimed blow. Ten of the crew were in the room by this time – along with the Fardy brothers, Cybele and Celestine, and several of Cybele’s officers. Some had gone around behind the Saxons so they could not flee.
For a moment, the blond Fardy and the fingerless soldier looked closely at one another. The former was the first to speak: “In the heat of battle one can see into the heart of a man; yet in the stupors of peace a man may be forced into cruel wrongs. When your actions were your own, you have shown yourself to be noble hearted. Therefore, the guilt rests on your commanders and the honor on yourself. You are free to go,” and he stepped aside, making way for him to leave.
“My lord!” the soldier said hoarsely, “Do you think my master would be pleased in that? I have lost my fingers for this woman’s sake, am I to lose my head for Gylain’s?”
“What would you have, then?”
“I have served in the royal battalion for twenty years: half my life; first in the service of the king, then in the service of Gylain. For the king I served with honor through respect and for Gylain I served with guilt through authority; for I am a soldier, and bred to follow my orders. My brother served alongside me in the guards and gained great renown in the foreign wars. When our captains joined Gylain, he deserted to the forest rebels. To my shame I did not join him. I can make no excuses. But now – at last – I can plead for my life and beg forgiveness, that I might rejoin my brother and my conscience.”
The rebels were endeared to the man from this speech, especially the Fardy brothers. The black brother asked, “What is your brother’s name? I will reunite you myself.”
“I am called de Garmia, and he de Garcia.”
The men stepped backwards in surprise. Even the Fardys could say nothing for moment.
“So my fears are not unfounded,” the man hung his head. “Tell me, what fate has met my brother?”
“It was he who gave himself to save us, when Gylain had us all within his castle,” the black Fardy whispered. “It was he who cut loose the catapults but was left behind to face the wrath of Gylain.”
The soldier fell to his knees and tore open the doublet that covered his armor. Celestine, having been untied during the preceding dialog, comforted him with a maternal demeanor.
“God is a being of mercy and he will work all things together.”
The soldier could not speak through the tears which soaked his beard.
“God’s mercy!” mocked Cybele. “God’s mercy is but the devil’s revenge! Your brother is as dead as my heart, de Garmia, and his death was accomplished by the most depraved means.”
As she spoke, the lieutenant – whom the brown Fardy had knocked unconscious – returned his mind to the room.
“De Garcia?” he moaned in confusion, “Has he been recaptured?”
“What!” and de Garmia grabbed the lieutenant by his uniform, “Speak, man!”
“De Garmia,” he hesitated from disorientation, “Your brother was long a prisoner, though we were forbidden from above to let you know. Montague is a hard master.”
“Yet he has no power here!” the brown Fardy said, stepping forward. “Speak!”
The lieutenant looked at the queen with a fearful expression.
“Fool,” she laughed, “Do I care if you are slain?”
He was silent and thought for a moment. Then, relieved, “Am I Montague’s son, that I follow him through sin and Hades; or am I Gylain’s lover, that I praise him in his evil?” He gave Cybele a sharp glance as he spoke, angering her immensely though she did not show it. “Your brother, de Garmia, is the shaggy prisoner about whom we joked these last ten years.”
De Garmia’s face sunk to the floor. “Go on.”
“He escaped with the rebels, but was left behind, for he shot the catapults. When Gylain emerged from the castle, he saw his old comrade and had compassion. The glory of a great warrior, if only a memory, can save the life of the haggard shadow of the same. With Leggitt, he was sent to a slave ship under Nicholas Montague’s command. It is a terrible mercy, perhaps, but for many it would have been death instead. That is all I know.”
“Come with us, de Garmia,” said the blond Fardy. “Your brother is beyond our help now, though there is yet hope for him. Nicholas is bound for Bordeaux and there are powerful men in that city who are indebted to de Garcia for their lives.”
“I am willing to go, my lords. Only let me fight to avenge my wrongs.”
“All Atiltians will fight, and I would be glad if you were on my side. But, for now, you must be doctored. Huln, take Celestine and de Garmia to the doctor’s room.” Then, turning to Celestine, “God uses the foolish to confound the wise,” and he winked.
“So he does,” she smiled. “As for me, I am not wounded; for de Garmia is a skillful actor. But I will go nonetheless, to bandage his wounds with my own hands.”
When they were gone, the Fardy brothers turned to Cybele, who stood there without a countenance.She said nothing and made no expression to reveal her thoughts.
“Chain her to the rack,” said the black Fardy without hesitation, pointing to the device which had held Celestine. “Do not beat her, but neither set her free. Celestine will no doubt speak with her later. Until then she is to be gagged.”
The bridge, like the captain’s chamber, stretched across the Marin, having windows on either side. A command desk stood before each one, with a myriad of instruments and controls for a variety of purposes. As these things were taking place, Timultin had been by the window overlooking the Floatings, where it was now entirely dark. When the black Fardy finished speaking, Timultin called out to them, “Sirs! The chains are fastened!”
Cybele looked to her own chains in wonder, but the others looked to the window.
“Indeed, and there is the water line, several yards above us,” said the brown Fardy, pointing to the window. “You have planned well, Timultin.”
“Freedom,” is all the blond Fardy said.
As they looked, several dozen chains – immense in proportions – could be seen attached on one end to the Marin, and on the other to the Timber that floated above, on the surface of the Floatings.
“Come, my brothers,” the brown Fardy said, “The Timber’s scheduled excursion must go on: Thunder Bay awaits.” He turned and winked at the imprisoned queen, who could not keep her eyes from flashing at the thought of her defeat. She had not thought of that.
“You are foolish for a queen,” the black Fardy laughed. “For while you waxed and waned, our crew submerged the Marin and chained it to the Timber above us – the wide, docking platforms of which will screen us from those above. And so we go in peace where you would have gone in war: dragged on by an innocent excursion boat.” He could think of nothing to add, so he raised himself on his heels with a flourish, cried “Long live the king!” and left the room, followed closely by his brothers – the simple, foolish Fardy brothers.
Chapter 64
The King of France resided with his court in Paris, during the winter, but he also kept a palace in Bordeaux for the height of summer. For the most part, that city consisted of small, brick buildings condensed into an equally small space, with only narrow lanes to separate them. The roofs were flat and made into patios – giving witness to
