for we cannot help the people of Atilta by taking from the people of France.” He dared a look at Ivona, who at the same time dared a look at him.
Her heart was tempted to weakness. Lorenzo’s words became her earrings: “You will marry this prince, whether now or later. It is your fate, and cannot be escaped.” Her pulse quickened and for an instant her heart made war against itself. But it was in vain; for she loved him in spite of herself.
“I am of de Garcia’s opinion, though I suspect you both think vainly,” Patrick said. “For I see a body of metal approaching from the forest: it glitters, as if armor.” He pointed to the forest. The others strained their eyes to see as well.
It was late morning and the sky was already bright with rib-cage clouds. Beyond the blue, only green surrounded them; yet the green of the forest and the green of the grass were hardly the same color, for one was a blond and the other a brunette. The party was left in a vacuum, both of colors and shapes. The meadow was an arena, the trees were as spectators, and the clouds were distant buildings. And they were the gladiators. Yet the opponents were missing, though only for a moment. For the glowing steel that Patrick saw became clearly visible as it emerged from the forest: a battalion of French troops. They marched in perfect order, even through the forest, under the command of a valiant looking man. Their pace did not fall off as they approached.
“Sheath your sword,” Willard said to de Garcia, who still wielded his blade. “We will not run nor fight, for they are our allies.”
The French soldiers saw they did not flee and wondered who they might be. But Captain Khalid, remembering Vahan’s warning about Montague, did not slow his pace. In a moment the two groups met, and the battalion circled around them until there was no escape. Only then did Khalid speak.
“In the name of the King of France, I take you prisoner. Resistance is death.”
“For what reason,” Willard asked him, taking a step forward and rearing himself to his full stature. He looked and sounded every bit a king, which set the captain the wrong way. The man was not used to ordering those above him in rank.
“For reasons of the crown,” he answered.
“In his territory, the king is privileged to arrest whom he will,” Willard returned. “I do not resist, yet take me to him, for I need to speak with him on an urgent matter.”
“He does not meet with commoners.”
“Indeed? But I am none other than the King of Atilta.”
“The king?” the captain tried to fill his voice with mockery, but it came out respect. “I have been warned of your guiles, Nicholas Montague. So, knowing they will not work, do not attempt them.”
“He is not Montague!” cried Ivona, “For his lips do not lie.”
“It is not the lips that are defiled,” Khalid answered. “If his lips do not lie, it is his heart.”
“No, I am not Montague,” Willard said. “Do I even look like him?”
“I have never met him, so I cannot say. But I have heard of him, and
“You have heard of him and of his deeds? Then tell me, if I were Montague, do I look to be fifty years of age? Is my beard not the richest black and my skin as tight as youth? But if I am not fifty, could I have been in France at the late king’s demise? Or at Saxony in the heat of battle? You see, I am not Montague.”
“Your words are coherent, but my orders are more so,” the captain said. “I am here to protect the interests of France and of Atilta, by order of Sir Vahan Lee.” They smiled when they heard the name with its illustrious prefix. “I am told that you are Montague, that you are not to be trusted nor given the slightest leeway, and that I am to hang you immediately upon return to the fortress outside of Bordeaux. And I do as I am told. Now turn yourself, surrender your weapons, and let us be off.”
De Garcia made as if to draw his sword, but Willard stopped him. “Is it better to die possibly in the future, or for sure in the present? Vahan will not let us be executed.”
“No, good sir,” Khalid said, influenced by Willard’s kingly stature, “I will do as I am commanded, and you will hang. But to live another day is still a blessing. Men, take their arms.” The soldiers disarmed the captives, bound their hands, and spread them throughout their ranks.
“Bring the women to the front,” Khalid commanded. “They will walk at my side.”
“If you harm them, I will eat your rotting flesh,” Patrick growled.
“Would you not?” laughed the blue-eyed Lydia.
“It is not I who would harm them,” answered the captain, “And I only bring them to the front that they may enjoy the lovely day without a hundred metal boots clanging before them. It will be only a short walk, for the river is nearby.” With that, Khalid turned and began marching, followed by the others. He was a hard man. His pace was a double march.
They reached the river within the hour, finding the battalion’s river boat under guard on the bank. It was fifty feet long and fifteen across, though its bottom was flat and sat only a foot below the water. Some sat on barrels and crates full of provisions, others on the sides, and still others were left standing. Khalid, however, gave this pleasure to his soldiers rather than to the prisoners. It had taken three days to reach the Cervennes mountains by wagon; by ship, they reached the fortress by the evening of the next day. On the evening of the second day, Willard and Ivona were seated together on a large crate on the rear of the boat, close beside Khalid’s own seat.
“Were you treated well during the march, Ivona?” Willard asked.
“As well as any prisoner. I am aware of my beauty, for though it is nothing to me, it is much to others. It inspires a passion in men: some to possess it by love and others by force. But the captain is a man of honor: it only inspired his respect.”
“You are aware, then, of the powers you have over men?”
“I am,” Ivona did not look away, but met Willard’s eyes with her own.
“And yet you do not yield in favor of any man?”
“And why would I? What I have is only mine because I have been given it, and I cannot give what is another’s.”
“You are strange, for a woman.”
“Because I do not revel in my beauty?”
“Yes, and because you do not try to increase it with ornaments.”
“Perhaps I know that my beauty is best served alone.”
“So it is. Your countenance is your beauty, and that is formed by your mind and your thoughts.”
“Have you studied me so?” she asked with a smile. Then, quietly, “There are better things to be studied.”
“But Ivona, a flower must grow to the sun, and a man to beauty. For you I feel many things.”
“Do not say it,” Ivona turned her head, “For I cannot return it, as I am not meant for it.”
“Would God create such beauty only to leave it beyond the touch of man?”
“The finest things he consecrates to himself.”
“Perhaps, but I have seen how you are, and you have seen how I am.”
“I have feelings, you mean, but they do not govern me. If my heart is yours, my soul is not.”
“You speak, and I see your lovely lips moving, and I see their expressions that delight me unto weariness. Yet I cannot comprehend their words.”
“My love is the folly of youth.”
“If youth is folly, then age is wisdom; let us grow old together.”
“Foolish man!” she faltered, losing the strength of her voice. “I cannot love you!”
“Foolish woman!” he returned in the same whisper, “I cannot but love you!”
In the fading light Ivona’s hair grew darker and her eyes deeper. The moon hid behind a cloud for a moment. In the darkness, gravity drew them together. He kissed her. She did not recuse herself. Then, with a brilliant twinkle, the moon returned. Ivona broke away and turned to the night to conceal her happiness. Only the silence thought back to what had been: heavy, foggy silence.
“Vanity, vanity, all is vanity,” she whispered, but she could not mean it.
The air was broken by a laughing call from close beside them. “Make love, Montague! For now come the gallows!” It was Captain Khalid.
Chapter 78
The fortress was just ahead on the river, twenty yards from the shore with a paved path passing from its
