The forest in this area was rather highly elevated, with the meadow sloping down from the road. Through this landscape the ocean could be seen, shining sweetly beyond the wooden barrier. Beer-froth clouds filled the sky, illuminated underneath by the drowning sun. The rigid forms of the forest trees contrasted this heavenly panorama with their earthly roots, and the result was the natural mixture of the romantic and the mathematical. It was, in a word, paradise.
“That is my destination, friend,” said Oren Lorenzo, his fiery mustache bent upwards by his grin. “It is one of the monasteries in my district, and I would be pleased if you would join us here this evening. This is, perhaps, a beautiful place, but the food trumps it nicely. The abbot hails from Italy, and his pasta and bread are unsurpassed. I can taste it even now.” The prior kissed the ends of his fingers and twirled around, excited by the thought of good food amidst the good scenery.
“They must be preparing quite a feast,” Willard replied, “For look, the smoke pours from the building.”
As he said this the smoke became more and more evident, increasing rapidly until it was suddenly replaced by the flames that caused it, moving swiftly to the outside of the building.
“Good heavens above us!” shouted Lorenzo, “The abbey is on fire!”
He dashed off toward the blaze, not heeding Willard’s request that he remain. It would have been better if he had. For at that moment a half dozen horsemen came around from the back of the building. They were dressed in black, with the insignia of Gylain on their shields. With them came a dozen monks, swarming around their burning monastery like ants around a broken ant hill. Before Willard and Horatio were able to get half way to the burning building, Oren Lorenzo was already there, shouting at the horsemen.
“You wretched vermin! I have never witnessed a more hideous, debauched act in my long life – and who can doubt but that the good lord hasn’t either? What is the meaning of this – of setting fire to the house of God? And of those loyal to the country? By Goliath and the Queen of Sheba, who slew him with the braids of bondage!”
The leading horseman reared his steed. “We are soldiers of Gylain,” he answered harshly, “Under orders to punish this house of heathenism for treason to the crown, for plotting to overthrow the king, and for aiding rebel bandits. We act under the law, so step back!”
“A plundering law is worse than anarchy. This is no lawful deed – this is arson and you will be punished.”
“By whom?” laughed the horsemen.
“By me!” roared the prior, his face becoming as red and as fiery as his mustache. He held his staff in the air and swung it at the speaker, knocking him from his saddle. His eyes flashed and he turned to the next in an attempt to repeat the performance, raising his staff to strike. But just as he hurled it toward the horseman, the leader, stretched out on the ground, kicked Lorenzo’s legs from beneath him. He fell out of balance and tumbled to the earth. In an instant the leader was on his feet once more, quickly binding Lorenzo’s wrists.
“You will be richly rewarded for your trouble, you fool of a friar. The dungeons of Castle Plantagenet will soon remedy your zealous heart.”
He laughed and pushed the friar onto the horse of one of his men. The monks stood by helplessly as their beloved prior was thus imprisoned, prevented by their vows – as well as their incapacity – from saving him.
There were others present whom the horsemen had not yet seen, however. Willard and Horatio began charging at them when they saw what was taking place. At the same moment that the leader remounted his steed to ride off, they came with a charge. The air was thick with their shouts, Willard yelling and Horatio roaring. The bandits quickly spun around to face the newcomers. Willard was a great swordsman, yet even perfection could not have overcome a half-dozen mounted men. It was all he could do to protect himself. He parried first one and then another, dodging a third and making two of them clash their swords together.
While Willard was thus engaged, Horatio was sparring with the leader of the soldiers. The leader succeeded at last in giving the bear a firm kick in the face, but it was only to his horror that he succeeded. As the bear’s head was pushed backwards, his hood slipped off. His anger was aroused at being kicked in the snout, and Horatio let out a death-defying roar. The monks and the soldiers were terrified, thinking the monk had been turned into a bear. They all turned to look at him. They all were silent. All except Oren Lorenzo. His surprise far surpassed that of the others, for he had spent the whole afternoon speaking with the bear, as he thought, and was fully convinced that he had previously been a human being.
“By the hairs on my back and the skin on my head,” he shouted, very confused, “It is the devil himself, and he has come to claim the souls of those who would defile the church. I am against you, Satan. But for now, let loose the flames of Hades!”
The leader of the bandits was hardly phased by this, but his men were panic stricken with the sudden thoughts of death and eternity put into their heads. The leader feared their courage was at an end, and spurred his horse forward. He commanded the others to follow, before they lost their souls – or rather, their courage.
“Onward, men,” he cried, “Onward to Eden and to safety! The only soul that will meet death there is yours, blasted friar!”
And with that, the soldiers of Gylain, with Oren Lorenzo as a prisoner, disappeared from sight around the bend in the road, galloping off at such a speed they could not be caught.
“To Eden,” Willard whispered to himself when they had gone. “You have not seen the last of the devil yet, Gylain.”
Chapter 17
From the meadow where Lorenzo was abducted, it was possible to get a good view of the ocean beyond. Atilta was an island similar in size to Scotland, and it was not more than ten miles from the monastery to the coast. In all the commotion that resulted from the burning of the monastery, Willard did not get a chance to look at the ocean for any length of time. If he had, however, he would have seen a gallant sailing ship, with four stout masts and a carved whale that stuck out from the bowsprit. Its sails where full of the wind, stretched out like clouds and pulling the ship forward.
There were a hundred men on deck, and twenty of them were bound tightly in chains. From their dirty, unshaven appearance, it was evident they had been prisoners for at least several months, and possibly several years. One of the prisoners was especially terrible, for his countenance was one of evil and malice, and his black eyes burned with the watch fires of hate. He sat on a bench beside the wheel, gazing at the shore of Atilta. Beside him stood a tall, muscular man with a flowing white beard and a weather-beaten face. In his hands, the latter held a telescope, carefully examining the area where the monastery was on fire.
“By the depths of the sea,” he grumbled, “There is a church burning up there, and a troop of Gylain’s thugs harassing the clergy.”
The prisoner laughed.
“Yes, but what were you expecting? This is Gylain’s land, and he is the power here, regardless of who owns this ship. You will get no joyful welcome, William, for the rebels are defeated by now. There is none left to greet with open arms the former Admiral of Atilta, least of all his former friend!” He laughed again, mocking the pride of his captor.
“Fifteen years ago I was captured for the second time by Gylain, Nicholas Montague, but you must know that. I was placed upon this ship, to be tortured by you and your heartless men. Do not think that I have forgotten the pain I felt as you hung me from the bowsprit day and night, with the cold waves breaking against my face and the sharp winds devouring my flesh. You left me there for months, and during the fiercest storms you did not do so much as cover me from the elements. Yet I am made stronger by it, and my fever has only grown. No, Montague, I have not forgotten.”