“Your time draws nigh, William,” Gylain said to himself, “But I fear that mine will not be long in following. Oh wretched fate that was given me – to destroy that which I love most!” and he fell silent, his face fixed like stone against the whipping winds that stung him. “The deluge,” he murmured.
At length, Jonathan Montague approached him and said, “My lord, we are within range for the archers to begin.”
Gylain stood silent for a moment, staring into the chaotic sea as if he did not hear him. But at length, he turned to face Montague. With a tender face, Gylain asked him, “Jonathan, have you ever hated?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And have you ever loved?”
“Yes, my lord, dearly.”
“And which came first?”
“They came together, at the same instant.”
“So it was with me,” Gylain whispered, turning his head once more into the storm and hardening his face and his heart. “So it was with me.”
At that moment Gylain’s countenance was overshadowed by evil, as if he no longer cared for what was good.
“Fire!” he cried, and nothing more. But it seemed to linger upon the face of the waters for a moment. It was loud enough for all the fleet to hear it. Even The King’s Arm it.
The seven ships were now within a dozen yards of each other, a dangerous distance in a storm. Yet for their closeness, the waves and the roll of the sea kept them from having a clear shot at each other. The rebels were formed into lines upon the deck of The King’s Arm : twenty armored soldiers lining the stern rails, with archers kneeling behind them, only standing to shoot. Ivona had taken her place among the archers while Oren Lorenzo had gone below to arm himself. When the prior returned, he rushed over to her.
“Ivona! This is no place for a woman.”
She turned her comely face toward him, and her beauty was radiant. Her hair was wet and tangled her pale face contrasted by a smear of blood upon it.
“Neither is it a place for a priest of the church,” she answered solemnly. “But when death knocks, no one can refuse it entrance.”
“If your father were here, he would not allow it,” Lorenzo replied.
“If my father were here,” she stopped her sentence short, for fear of disrespecting her beloved father. But she continued it to herself, “He would blaspheme and curse the God who made him.”
Oren Lorenzo gave her a broad smile, his lightning bolt mustache turning upwards with his lips. He had finished her sentence the same way. “There is little hope for us, dear child,” he said with an affectionate smile, “And if death must come, then let it come with honor.”
“There is little honor in death, when it is done for one’s self,” she answered. “But what do you mean, there is little hope? Does not God provide a way, when there seems to be none?”
“My child,” he laughed, gently kissing the top of her head, “Your faith could throw mountains into the sea, how much more the tyrants of the land?” With that, he left her and joined the ranks of the armed men.
Meanwhile, in the front of the ship, the Admiral and Alfonzo were speaking.
“I hear you have arisen in the need of your countrymen, forsaking your own desires for those of your people,” he placed his leathery hand upon Alfonzo’s shoulder.
“Yes, father,” Alfonzo humbly answered.
William’s eyes moistened as he said, “You have done right by Celestine, as I should have done by her mother. Go, take her with you, and escape in the longboat. The shore is near at hand and the enemy will not see you in the waves. Go, escape to peace, for you have long deserved it, but have longer been denied.”
“I cannot leave my comrades.”
“No, do not say that, Alfonzo. I have been where you are now and I have made the wrong decisions – all that we now suffer is the result of my selfish zeal. No, you will go. The love of his country brings honor to a man, my son, but the love of his wife brings him happiness. I will not allow you to destroy what has been given to you and to my daughter. May she have the love her mother was never allowed.”
The Admiral’s stern face would not yield, and Alfonzo – seeing the wisdom that had been bought at such a painful price – bowed low and went below to fetch his wife. She went with him, and within ten minutes they were in the longboat, halfway to an inlet that ran into the forest. It could barely be seen from the distance, even to those eyes that knew its location – for it was ingeniously camouflaged with bushes and branches.
Meanwhile, Willard and Horatio stood side-by-side near the taffrail.
“Horatio, it has been a wild journey, this last week. We have gone from wild men to kings. But it is all the same now, for we have reached the end. When a man has a blood brother like you, what else can he aspire to? No kingdom can surpass the greatness of the love of one dear friend, be he man or beast.”
He embraced the bear, and Horatio plucked him from the deck of the ship, holding him there within the folds of his massive arms.
“Horatio!” Willard said, “We have to keep up appearances. What would the men think if they saw their king hugging a bear like some rough country boy?”
Horatio turned and looked at the soldiers, standing tall upon his hind legs and roaring horrifically. The soldiers turned and pretended to study something in the opposite direction. Then, with his odd grin, Horatio set Willard upon the deck once more.
By this time arrows were streaming over the deck of The King’s Arm , most landing harmlessly in the sails and rigging, washed away into the sea. The battle, however, was just beginning to grow desperate. A few longboats had broken away from the enemy fleet and were now stealthily drawing alongside the rebel ship. Among them, in the lead boat, were Gylain and the Montague brothers.
“I am a patient man,” the brown Fardy called over the storm, “But this watery chase is running me dry!” He stood alongside his brothers at the foot of the spanker boom – on a platform that stood several feet above the deck in the center of the ship.
“You are long suffering, my brother, but perhaps I know a way to free your mind from its heavy load.”
“Speak, then, but do not leave me waiting like some old woman.”
“Dear brother! Am I the sort of chap to let any man look at my brother and call him impatient? I will have to make you wait now, lest you bring dishonor to yourself and your family.”
As the blond Fardy spoke, the black Fardy was hard at work sorting through some barrels and changing their contents. In one barrel was a supply of candlewicks – not yet made into candles – and in the other were small jars of whale oil – widely favored at that time, though extremely explosive in large quantities. He was trying to set fire to the candlewicks, in the hopes of warming himself. The barrels were deep and the contents protected from the rain and wind. They stood a few inches above the spanker boom.
“Are you proclaiming yourself a more patient man than I? For my own sake, I would not care at all, my brother. But I cannot allow you to lose your reward in heaven, by gaining it here on earth!”
“Gentleness runs in my veins,” the blond Fardy returned, “But not nearly so much as blood. If I must have one or the other, let it be the latter!” He saw the spanker boom’s sheet – the rope that kept it from spinning around – and dashed to untie it.
Just as he did, a strong burst of wind came over the troubled waters, catching the spanker sail and throwing the boom in the opposite direction. If it had still been secured, the result would have been no more than a ripple on its surface. But when the wind’s strength was hurled against it with no resistance, the boom swung around its axis with a vengeance. The black Fardy had succeeded in lighting the candlewicks, and was on his knees, looking for a dropped match. The blond Fardy was on the ground, having dove to undo it. The brown Fardy, on the other hand, was on the same side as the wind, and could not be hit. Thus, the boom flew without impediment and crashed into the two barrels: the candlewicks – now burning – and the bottles of whale oil. They flew over the taffrail and fell toward the sea on the other side of the deck.