the influence of the Mediterranean civilizations which were held in such high esteem by those who overthrew them. Yet there was no transcending pattern to which the city conformed – like the circles of Eden or the squares of Rome – and at times even the narrow lanes did not exist, with only a path of connected roofs to serve as inroads to exclusive communities. It was as temporal as it was chaotic, though it was not as fluid as the Floatings.
At this time Bordeaux had two general delineations: the upper city, near the palace and the spacious suburbs; and the lower city, extending from the docks up the slight incline to the upper city. There were few architectural pleasures in the lower city, but for the scattered mansions and royal buildings that formed an oasis in the poverty. Even the upper city was not beautiful, though it was still imposing, for it had been built with an eye to defense by the legendary Charlemagne. But time had passed since then, and the city now advanced to the very walls of the palace: filling the old moat with the homes of peasants. The walls had been converted into the sides of an extended palace – no longer a castle even in name – and the king found himself connected with the citizenry in a way that his Parisian fortifications did not allow. And this king enjoyed it, though his motives were not always political. Three divisions presented themselves in the palace: first, the outer rooms, being only two stories high; second, the inner rooms, being four stories high; third, the royal chambers, being eight stories high.
The royal chambers were in a tower above the rest, but it was square and wide enough inside that it did not seem a tower. Though it was four stories high – for it only began where the rest of the palace ended – it housed only two rooms: the king’s council room, below; and his bedchambers, above. Their floors were of marble and uncarpeted, their walls of precisely cut stone, their windows of a particularly transparent stained-glass. The domed ceiling was made entirely of the latter, through which the king was wont to look when on his bed. At this time, the council room was empty but for the king, sitting at the head of the long table with his head resting on his hands in a rather unkingly manner.
“What beauty,” he said as he minutely studied his surroundings, “What amazing, unadulterated beauty. Yet it is not the sort a man longs for, since it is made my man himself. The beauty that jigs my blood is that which is from above, the beauty of the bosom-bearer.”
He brought his face around to the door, which could be heard opening, followed by a dignified footstep. Yet a pillar stood between his eyes and the intruder.
“Who is so daring to disturb my confidence? It would be better for you if you left this chamber at once, petty servant, and told your master I am occupied.”
“But I am not petty, my lord, though I am most humbly in your service,” answered a fluid tenor, possessed with a literary strength.
“Vahanlee! You have returned!” and the king stood to greet him. “I had feared the worst.”
“Your majesty, fear is an emotion unsuitable to your position. I am a loyal servant, of course, but it is not a service to incite fear in the fearless.”
“You are right, if discreet,” the king shook his hand. “I am a ruler, so I must not be ruled. But still, it would be a mortal blow to me, to lose you. Gylain has many eyes and though he woos France, he does not do so willingly.”
“Gylain knows nothing. Have I not been in his dungeons, myself? Yet here I am, released against his will,” and Vahan raised his arms to show his resilience.
The king was amazed.“In his dungeons!” he cried. “Does he have the mettle for such things?”
“I remained unknown to him, though he visited my cell in person.” Vahan lifted his head, in pure pleasure at relating in bravado what he did not undergo with such.
“This is too much, Vahanlee! In person?”
“Indeed, but perhaps because I was imprisoned with Alfonzo of Melborough,” he emphasized the name.
The king bounded up from the seat he had just taken. “Alfonzo, the son-in-law of my old comrade, William Stuart? Vahanlee, I knew you as a wise man and a great ruler – but I must add a man of action to your credentials. Tell me, what took place?”
“I will, your majesty, but there are things which pass this very moment and which each hour grow more dangerous for our dear Atilta. We can lose no time, for there is much to be set in motion.”
“Then tell me what I must know in haste and tonight we will relish the tale for its own worth.”
Vahanlee drew near the king. “The King of Atilta was your cousin.”
“Yes, though he is dead.”
“
“Vahanlee, you astound me. I did not think those old wives tales could be true. But,” the king’s face clouded, “But if one is true, could not the others be?”
Vahan was silent. The king recited, “As went Atlantis, so goes Atilta, drowned beneath its heavy burden.”
“And so it will be, if Gylain remains in power.”
“Then what do you suggest I do.”
“Gather the fleet,” Vahan said, “And ready the soldiers: the Emperor rides with Gylain.”
“I have foreseen that much, since Lyndon is a man of short lineage. Where is my nephew, the King of Atilta?”
“In France: I have just left him. He contends with Nicholas Montague for the Holy Graal, to heal Lord Milada.”
The king lowered his glance from Vahan’s face and fell back in terror. “Vahan! Your shirt is stained with blood!”
Vahan looked down, and – with a hardened, forest demeanor – said, “So it is. We fell into combat with de Casanova outside the customs house; but do not fear, for he was easily dispatched.”
“Vahan, you are a warrior,” the king laughed. “See, I was wise to send you, in spite of your objections. I knew your strength more than you yourself did.”
Vahan colored at the thought.
“I will send a battalion to their assistance,” the king volunteered in the other’s silence. “Khalid,” he called, and a captain of the guards came from outside the door. “Montague has come, and you can avenge your brother in full,” he said. “Do not spare his life.”
“Of course, my lord,” he bowed. “But where am I to find him?”
The king turned to Vahan, who said, “The Cervennes mountains.”
“And how will I know him?”
“He is a powerful, dark haired man with a firm, unerring demeanor,” Vahan said.
The king added, “If they are captured, carry them to the fortress and execute them at once. Be careful, Khalid, for they are slippery fellows. Disregard their words, as honest as they seem.”
Khalid bowed reverently and was gone.
“As for the fleet,” the king said after a short pause, “They are scattered throughout the seas and it will take weeks to collect them again. And even then they must be outfitted.”
“You are mistaken, your majesty,” Vahan smiled slightly, “For I took the liberty of collecting them prior to my departure. You will find them collected and outfitted in the fortress’ harbor, with their crews collected and armed.”
“Forgive me, Vahanlee,” the king laughed, “For in your absence I had forgotten your genius.”
Chapter 65
“Do not lose hope,” Willard called back through the dense forest air. “The mountain draws nigh.”
“I cannot see,” de Garcia replied, “For the trees forbid any view of the sky above.”
“Yet I can smell the open air of the clearing. It will be only a moment.”
They walked through a last remnant of the ancient forest that still lingered on the continent, in the area of the Cervennes mountains. It was protected by some unseen influence that resonated from the main peak of the mountain range, but it still was not as ancient or majestic as the forest of Atilta. To Willard, the differences were clear: the trees were slightly closer, the underbrush thicker, and there were fallen leaves and branches littering the ground. In Atilta, leaves rarely fell, and the ground within the forest was but a shaded meadow. Yet to the others, the forests were similar. For some see personality when they look at nature: that some trees stand proud and
