Alfonzo finished the letter and looked to Osbert. “The news is good, then – at least, better than I anticipated. He has tested the men, and they are loyal. I know not how, yet he says they are true to the cause.”
“To me that news is less than good.”
“How so, Osbert?”
“It means the traitors are among us, and it makes my heart as cold as the earth from whence it came, to think any of my comrades would do such a thing.”
“Yes, our feelings are the same, but we must put ourselves beyond our feelings, when dealing with matters that are beyond ourselves.”
“And the freedom of Atilta is at stake here.”
“Exactly,” replied Alfonzo, “You must sleep now. We leave early.”
“Goodnight,” and with that Osbert, the trusty ranger of the forest, went off to catch his rest.
For the rest of the night Alfonzo sat motionless on guard. His tall figure was stony and reserved, as always. His long, bound hair gave him an ancient look, like a statue from the past. His goatee had not been trimmed in many days, though the rest of his face was kept clean, and his mustache was beginning to droop in an arch over his mouth. His eyes burned, flaming with memories, mostly of the crown prince, his youthful friend and protege; and of his love, Celestine. Then, when these thoughts passed through him, his eyes went from flames to mirrors. Injustice was his only enemy, the one who manifested it merely his enemy’s form. He had no hatred of Gylain or of Jonathan Montague, or any of the others – merely of their actions. And why should he, for those who were pardoned from above would never be judged, and those who were not were already condemned.
“Patience, Alfonzo,” he murmured to himself, “Justice will prevail. And if it does not, than life will not live to know of it.”
Chapter 11
The dawn was slowly passing and the warmth of day replacing it with every step it took in retreat. The party congregated around the camp, and there was no sign of commotion or disturbance, for Montague had entirely disappeared the previous day. The sun shone down at just the right angle that it streamed in over the tops of the trees like a divine spotlight, slivering down and squirming with the mist that rose up through it. There was a slight breeze, warm to the touch, and the air was thick and pure, full of life.
The walls of the camp had been partly disassembled and used for firewood, for all that needed to be defended against was the morning chill. The trunk that was laid out against the stream still rested there, along with a few of the rangers and a robin that sang to them in exchange for food, a forest minstrel. Several more of Alfonzo’s followers were sprawled out in the center of the clearing, laying in a bed of buttercups and bell hoppers: an orange and yellow flower that had the shape of a bell and smelled strongly of apples. The hopper in the name came from the fact that they closed up at night, and in the early dawn a careful observer could see them popping open one by one.
The rest of the group sat around the campfire, which was starting to fall asleep just as the men were fully waking up. Willard and Horatio were next to one another, talking with signs about the Fardy brothers. Willard explained that they were not wholly insane, just mostly so, while Horatio gave the brother nearest him a questioning look every now and then. Upon receiving it, the brother would return it with an upraised eyebrow and an open mouth. Horatio would then pretend to be looking beyond him, at something in the forest, squinting and moving his head back and forth as though he could just barely make the thing out, until he finally gave up and turned back to Willard, forsaking the thing which wasn’t there to begin with.
Vahan Lee sat beside Willard, listening to the talk of the others and keeping his own to himself. He was an interesting character, to say the least, for he spoke with a heavy French accent, and was dressed according to the French fashions of the day. Yet he claimed to be a loyal Atiltian. Indeed, he stressed this loyalty to the point of obsession. But his features were fair, and his eyes told of simplicity over duplicity. He was not threatening, but amusing, with his portly figure, and his facial expressions which were vividly humorous: at once confident and frightened. His purposes were evidently on the side of freedom, but they were also mysterious. It was this that caused Alfonzo to take him prisoner, for Vahan seemed a strange little man. He took him to ascertain what his intentions were, and, so far, they were proving good.
Meanwhile, the Fardy brothers sat beside Alfonzo and Osbert. The Fardy brothers were known to be at times overly serious, at others overly whimsical, at others overly angry, and at others overly proud of their humility. They switched between these moods without warning and as a group, so that one moment they would be commending each other for being patient, while the next they displayed the opposite quality.
Alfonzo, on the other hand, was almost always serious. When he wasn’t, it was easy to think that he was, for he never let himself stray from his purpose. His eyes were always burning, and Blaine Griffith once heard the men say they were surprised they never smoldered out. Yet they never did. He was the type of man who thought more than most, but who kept the fruits of that thinking to himself. The more a man thinks the more he keeps silent, some would say, and it was true, at least, in the case of Alfonzo. The most mysterious thing about Alfonzo was his past, not his present, and the way he looked at Willard let on to something that was going on within him. As he said himself, Alfonzo had been torn between his love, Celestine, and his duty, Willarinus. As a result, he lost them both.
Osbert was a man that needed much less explanation, for he was a loyal ranger, good with his bow and sword and better with his heart. There were few men as selfless as he, and as willing to suffer. He had no thoughts of glory, or if he did he put them down, and did not allow them to affect his actions. He was by no means the wisest of men, yet he knew one thing that often escapes the wise: Habetsuum venenum blanda oratio, and is not the poison worse than the bite that gives it?
Soon Alfonzo and the Fardy brothers finished their breakfast. At the same time, Willard and Horatio had said all they pleased to each other. The two groups, therefore, joined together and began speaking of the situation. Their conversation is as follows:
ALFONZO : In the danger, as well as in peace, you have forgotten the main purpose of your journey, my dear Fardy brothers – to tell us the situation in Eden.
BLOND FARDY : We thought it was good news that we brought. But our opinion has been changed by our kidnapping. If Gylain is willing to risk taking us, then he must feel our power is fading.
BROWN FARDY : Which makes it a better time to strike him! Let him think he has us down, then we will jump up and clobber him like a hammer on a nail.
BLACK FARDY : Perhaps we should take this time to secure our position. A watched pot never boils, you know.
BLOND FARDY : Yes, but who is to say an unwatched pot does any better? As for myself, I’m of the opinion that we should dispense with this boiling business all together, and get on with roasting him out of there.
VAHAN LEE : My sentiments of loyalty to Atilta are well known here, I believe. So I will venture to say that external strength should perhaps be solicited.