“If the duck quacks, don’t blame the chicken,” the old man said.
Willard scowled at him and said, “Begone, old man. The queen cannot be bothered.”
“I’m not a quack,” the old man winked, “And I reckon you are no chicken.”
“Sure enough” Willard returned. Then he added, in a voice loud enough to be heard by the castle guards – and to cover any other sounds, “Begone there, poor old barrel shepherd.”
“As you wish, master,” the old man muttered.
As he did so, however, he turned his back to the castle and his face to Willard. With his pole, he banged three times on the drawbridge, under which his barrels were still floating.
“Hurry up,” he said, and he quickly lifted the hood that covered his face. He winked at Willard.
He was none other than Jack Clifford. Willard, however, did not seem to recognize him.
“Begone, old fool,” he growled, “Or I will send you away forever.”
This time, Clifford moved along, poking his staff under the drawbridge as he left, as if to loosen the barrels. It worked, for the barrels floated on, the same number as before. The only difference was their weight: now all of them floated lightly on the surface of the water. When Clifford was safely passed, they crossed the drawbridge in a hurry. On the other side they were greeted by Gylain and Nicholas Montague, who seemed to be taken by surprise at the queen’s early arrival.
“What a pleasant surprise, madam,” and Gylain bowed to who he thought was the Queen of Saxony. “Come this way, for the feast is prepared!”
He led them into the outer courtyard of the castle, within the safety of the walls, which were thought to be secure from the infiltration of the rebels. Behind them, the draw bridge was swiftly raised and locked, so that none could come in or go out.
Yet there were a dozen dark figures on the underside of the drawbridge that the guards did not see. The darkness of the wood matched the darkness of their clothing and they were further obscured by the angle of the drawbridge. They held onto the wooden boards with small, metallic hooks, and when it reached the top, they jumped onto the parapets of the outer wall. Then they scurried into the shadows of the castle, where they became invisible, even in the light of the moon.
Chapter 37
After Montague left him to execute the prisoners, Gylain resumed pacing around his lofty chamber. Finally, despairing, he sat down at his writing desk. But the words of his proclamation still would not come, so he leaned back and sighed to himself.
“At last, Cybele comes to visit me on this desolate isle. Her mother was both beautiful and powerful – an enchanting combination. But I should not give myself to such emotion. What irony it is, that the fate of my kingdom lies partially in the hands of a woman, the daughter of the man I hate, and the sister of the woman I have held prisoner for fifteen years. But she is a queen, and knows the ways of power. Without her mother’s help, I would not have overthrown the king. He trusted Casandra of Saxony, the wife of his old friend William Stuart. When I was caught in the midst of my treasons, they threw me into jail – not the secure dungeon, but the city jail. The king sought to save me from the mistreatment of the guards whom I had plotted against. What foolishness, what naivety! From the city jail I was easily rescued by those in my confidence, and when Queen Casandra arrived, the time was ready for the revolution. Men put altogether too much faith in women.”
He arose and went to the window, where he stood and looked into its kaleidoscope patterns. “The coup did break her, though,” he muttered to himself, “It only weakened her spirit. After all those years of loving the Admiral, she turned on him viscously, and the shame broke her, made her fall into the foul hands of her conscience. It was her destiny, though, and how can you disagree with God’s plan? Admiral Stuart was always away on duty, doing this or that. She longed for his presence, but he never returned for more than a few weeks at a time, and then was gone for months. Love is a dangerous thing, and between it and hate there is little difference. They are two sides of the same thing; two in person, one in essence. Its passion to serve can quickly change into a passion to resist. Her love soured into hate, and she began to despise him and everything he represented. Together, we fell into treason and immorality.”
Gylain put his hand into the air and imitated picking fruit from a tree. “We fell from Eden.”
But then he pretended to throw it to the floor. “Yet she was not consistent in her hatred. Even in her passion she was never unfaithful to him. She never loved me the way I desired; she never completely forsook herself.”
He walked closer to the stained-glass window and ran his hand over one of its intricate depictions.
“At first, she was all I wanted,” he said, “Then I came to hate William myself. Yet I was eluded by them both. Celestine was so similar to her and so I loved her as well. But once more her faithfulness was too strong. Perhaps the younger daughter will love me as I desire.”
He paused and began playing with his beard in a thoughtful manner.
“Yet her love is not what drives me, nor her mother’s, nor the hatred of William. They were never the purpose but only the door; never the ends but only means. God cruelly uses us, his creation, who are unable to strike him back upon his divine cheek. The poor are swept away and have not the power to resist the dictates of his feudal fate. Who, then, can stand against him? Who can rise up and secure the freedoms of his fellow humans? It is I. The rebels oppose me, fighting for their earthly freedom, while I put our strengths together to fight our divine dictator. They are fools to hinder me.”
He raised his head to the heavens and scowled.
“God places authority in certain men, that they may oppress their fellows and thereby represent his own oppressions. He puts kings over countries not to keep the peace, but to break it. For God is not peace, but war. He is chaos and hatred, and authority is what he gives to those whom he would use to show his oppressions. In my youth, I was a foolish boy. I thought I could overthrow the king and with him God’s authority. I thought I could take the reigns of oppression in my own hands and bring them to a standstill. But look about me! I have myself become the vehicle of his evils. I cannot defeat him, for he uses me against myself!
“So I pursue William, knowing him to be the manifestation of God’s judgment on me. If I cannot kill God, I can kill those he sends. And so I seduced Casandra, and so I will seduce Cybele. I care nothing for them and nothing against William. But as far as they are used by God, I will oppose them and bring them to destruction. Look at this, cruel dictator! Can you see what is happening, oh God, from your heavenly Hades? I will bring your judgment upon yourself. I will defeat your will by defeating those who carry it out – even if it means destroying myself. You have flooded before, and the deluge will come yet again; for you are, of all things, a liar. But let it come, I say. Let it come!”
He was interrupted by a knocking on his door.
“Enter,” he called out loudly, heated by his monologued prayer.
Leggett, the captain of the castle guards, came in. He was of the average height, well-built, and had a short goatee. His dark hair was set back in a curly mass above his head.
“My lord,” he bowed, “I have come, as you commanded.”
Gylain looked at him blankly for a moment. Then, as if just remembering, said, “Ah, of course. Come, sit down and speak with me.” He pointed Leggett to the chair beside the desk, and both of them sat down.
“What I wanted to discuss with you, Leggett, was the security of the castle. You know that the Queen of Saxony is coming within the week. I want her to be welcomed graciously and securely. The feast is prepared and ready to be presented in a moment’s notice. But we have had rebel communications intercepted, speaking of an infiltration of some sort. We must be ready from now until the queen leaves. What is the situation?”