“Fifteen years has wrought a change in Ivona, from babe to beauty. Time is a universal phenomena – it passes in all places though it seems to pass only where you are, yourself. I return to Atilta, thinking to find it where I left it. But Gylain and the tide have blown it far off course.”
“If you cannot see what you left behind, what of me?” Barnes asked. “Your daughter and Alfonzo were already what they are today, though to a lesser degree; and your wife,” he hesitated, then by-passed the subject. “But when I parted from my brother, we were too young to be ourselves. I fear I will not know him.”
“Though far apart, of kindred heart,” rhymed the Innkeeper.
“We will see when time reveals itself to us, not before,” the Admiral said.
“Your years bring patience, whereas mine bring zeal.”
“No, though my years bring the appearance of patience. Within I am more zealous than even you, for there are those whom I have not seen for many years.”
“Celestine awaits, do not fear.”
“I do not speak of her. I am zealous for Gylain. It is he who my eyes cannot depart from, nor my mind set aside. He is my goal, and I will have his life, yet.”
“Look, there is a man approaching,” and Barnes pointed down the road.
There was an older man coming toward them at a quick pace, as if he recognized them. He was dressed in a monk’s frock and seemed to truly be one: the top of his head was not covered by his hair, his middle was rotund, and his nose hooked. It was a moment before they came together. When they did, the Innkeeper was the first to speak.
“Good heavens! What is this? Erwin Meredith back from the abyss,” he cried. “Many days it has been, since news of you traversed the wind.”
“Hail, Innkeeper,” Meredith answered. “I am glad it is you, for it has been too long since I have seen a friendly face.” The monk furled his eyebrows and glanced over the Innkeeper’s crooked nose, ruffled hair, and seagull eyes. “That is to say,” he muttered to himself, “I am glad to see a friend.”
“I am not your only friend here,” replied the Innkeeper, “William himself is near.”
“Silence, there, I will have none of your fanatical ejaculations! How could the Admiral have returned? You give yourself so easily to faith and hope, Innkeeper.”
“My presence means hope, then?” and William Stuart removed his hood. “Meredith, it is I! How many years has it been now, since we were parted on the decks of The King’s Arm ?” He stepped forward to Meredith’s side. His face was broad and powerful, emanating authority.
The Admiral continued his remembrance: “The sky above was clear, and the sun came down like fire to the ground. Below us the water was rough from the wind, but in the shelter of Thunder Bay there were no waves. It was only the swell that moved us. There were two ships on the side of freedom, and six on the side of oppression – a small battle, but an important one. Yet all around the shore stood the great trees of Atilta, entirely oblivious to the petty struggles of man which they witnessed.”
He went on: “The King’s Arm was alongside The Merry Forester , each drawn to quarters and ready to battle. Gylain held the land and his ships the neck of the bay. If we could not break though his line, the forces of the true king would be lost.”
The memory of that glorious day surfaced in Meredith’s mind, as if it were happening once more. He caught the strand of the Admiral’s narrative and threw it forward. “All was silent as both sides waited for the other to begin. Then, without warning, Gylain’s ships started toward us. You took your ship, The King’s Arm , to the left; and I took mine, The Merry Forester , to the right. We planned to split the blockade to allow at least on of us to escape. If they split, their center would be left open. If they did not, we would flank them and send a volley of arrows down their throats.”
The Admiral broke in: “Fortunately for us, the navy had been true to the rightful king, and Gylain was forced to man his fleet with pithy land-lubbers. At first, the enemy commanders could not decide what course to take. It would have been a sad defeat for Gylain, had not Nicholas Montague threw the captain overboard and taken the fleet into his own hands. His hatred was equaled only by his vigor, and though he was no seaman, he made himself one during the battle. He commanded the fleet to follow The King’s Arm , and they were upon us in a moment. There was no way of escape – they completely surrounded us. They were too close for arrows or missiles: in the confusion they would hit their comrades on the other vessels. Yet we could, and for a moment we gave them hell at half price. Soon, however, they repaid us double, and we found ourselves being boarded simultaneously by six frigates.”
Meredith took over the narrative: “On The Merry Forester , we were left in the open, able to flee to safety. Yet our comrades in The King’s Arm were doomed, stuck between the enemy ships and the woody shore. I stood upon the board, facing the open sea and freedom with one side and my beleaguered comrades with the other. Every face was turned my way, waiting my command and knowing the fate of the rebellion rested in our course. ‘Men,’ I cried without hesitation, ‘We must decide whether to save our own lives or the lives of our comrades. We must die, yet will we die for ourselves or for others?’ ‘For others!’ rose the shout. We came about and sailed into the battle.”
The Admiral resumed the story from his vantage point: “The battle was thick upon the decks of The King’s Arm . A hundred and fifty of us stood against Gylain’s four hundred. We could not hold them back, but were overpowered. It looked as though we had no chance to survive, and I cursed myself, that I could not take Gylain down to death as I went there myself. But as I looked up, I saw The Merry Forester quietly boarding the enemy’s ships. Montague had left the ships without a guard, thinking nothing of it in the battle. In the chaos, your men sneaked into the ships, killed the guards, and broke the boards that crossed to the deck of The King’s Arm . We were defeated. But The Merry Forester and all six of Gylain’s ships were stolen away, out of Thunder Bay and the reach of Gylain. This is the first I have returned to Atilta since.”
“And it is a great joy to see you, Admiral!” cried Meredith, embracing his old friend tightly.
“Do I not feel the same? But tell me, Meredith, what became of those liberated frigates? I hope they were sunk at once, and not allowed to fall into Gylain’s possession again?”
“No, Admiral. Too many of our friends were killed for us to reverse our victory by such a foolish mistake as returning them to Gylain.”
“Then they are sunk? It is good.”
“No, not sunk.”
“What?” the Admiral asked, “Then what have you done with them?”
“We have hidden them in our hidden harbor,” Meredith laughed. “A harbor in the middle of the forest.”He paused for a moment to give his words greater drama, then explained. “We took an inlet that flowed into the forest, and deepened it to allow the passage of ships. Then we covered its mouth with camouflage. They are only a hundred yards into the forest, but completely invisible from the water.”
“Meredith, you amaze me – though I should know better. Yet why do you not use them?”
“We do not have the men or officers to man them, and we cannot train more in the present situation.”
“I am returned. Let us begin! But first we must visit Lord Milada. The Innkeeper tells me his life is in danger from traitors and spies.”