Bella at Midnight (22 page)

I looked at the far edge of the forest, where Gilbert's army waited, and as I watched, a shadowy mass seemed to flow out of it, as if the trees were moving. The moon had retreated behind the clouds again, and it was dark once more—but I knew what it was I had seen. The army of Moranmoor was advancing. And
nothing
could stop it now!

How many would die before the sun rose on a new day, I could not bear to think. This night would mark the beginning of a new era of war, for none would ever trust a treaty again. And there was no
reason
for it; there was no righteous cause for sending good men to their deaths—only greed and arrogance and stupidity!

Terrible grief washed over me then—such aching despair and hopelessness and rage that I could no longer stand, but fell there upon the ground. It was as though I was wrapped in a cloud, and I could not breathe, and there was a roaring in my ears.

It is the last thing I remember from that night.

H
ow strange that Prince Julian should be in my thoughts at the very moment that he appeared—and so very unexpected, too!

The prince and I had been pages together at Castle Down, back when we were children, though we were never particular friends. He was always stiff and uneasy in our company. Perhaps it was because he was a prince and his pride would not allow him to associate too freely with the rest of us. He was often away from the castle, too—who knew where he went?

Still, we were together for nigh on seven years, and we talked often—as boys are wont to do—of that marvelous day when we would ride into battle for the first time, and how glorious it would be. I think we all longed to die heroic deaths—turning the tide of battle single-handedly, only to be overcome at the final hour by the force of a hundred knights! We would be famous! Bards would sing of our valorous deeds, and maidens would weep hot tears into their pillows over us at night! Such are the dreams of little boys.

Now our moment had come, and it was not glorious at all. We were about to attack our sworn ally—in breach of a treaty, by stealth, during a wedding feast. Worse still, we had sent assassins there, in the guise of wedding guests, to ease our way, so that we might slaughter our former friends without threat of peril to ourselves.

Oh, it sickened me. I think it sickened the duke, as well. But as we served the duke, and he served the king, we were all there, our little band. All but Julian, who would surely lose his life that night—not in battle, but at the end of a rope, if Harry had the time for it—as payment for his brother's treachery. And that is why I was thinking of him, you see.

And so it was very odd that he should suddenly appear just then. He was grandly arrayed, having come straight from the wedding feast, and sat astride his great warhorse, Bucephalus. But his hands were tied behind his back, and a sentry was leading him by the reins. Prince Julian a prisoner—what a strange vision
that
was!

“Is the duke here?” the sentry asked.

“He is not,” I replied. “He is with the high command. But tell me, what have you done to the prince? Why have you bound his hands?”

“We could not be certain
who
he was—
anyone
might claim to be the prince. We thought it best to bring him to the duke and see if he would vouch for him.”

“I can do so myself,” I said, “for we served together at Castle Down for more than seven years.”

“Geoffrey?”
Julian said.

“Indeed,” I answered with a smile. “Have you come to join us and win glory in your first battle?”

“No,” he said. “I come to have urgent council with my brother.” Then he turned and spoke to the guard: “As this good squire has assured you I am who I claim to be, and not a spy, I beg you to make haste and take me to the king.”

“I must return to my post, my lord. Squire, will you take him?”

I said I would do so gladly, and made to untie his hands.

The sentry stopped me. “I think that is for the king to decide,” he said. “For—pardon me, Your Highness—but it is Gilbert we serve, and not you. There have been feuds and plots enough in royal families before now—and truly it is irregular and strange that you should have left the castle at just this moment, and come to us here under cover of darkness. And suspicious, too, that you knew our secret plans. I cannot say whether you are in league with Harry and mean harm to your brother or no.”

“Then leave the bonds,” Julian said. “I do not care. Just take me to Gilbert, Geoffrey, and make haste.”

We found the king far to the rear, waiting restlessly for the advance to begin. When he recognized his brother, Gilbert seemed most astonished and displeased.

“What's this, Julian?” he said. “You are meant to be in the castle, at the wedding feast! How is it you knew we were here? Have you betrayed us?”

“Of course not,” Julian said. “Harry knows nothing of your plans. I only learned of them through a friend who wished to save my life—which
you
put in peril, brother, through this enterprise. But that is of no consequence. I came here to speak with you on a matter of the greatest urgency, and I beg you to give me fair audience, if only for our father's sake!”

“Then speak if you must,” said the king, “but be brief. I have important things to do.”

I only just managed not to smile at this, for it did not appear the king had anything
whatsoever
to do—important or otherwise. The duke and other high nobles were in council even then, discussing strategy and preparing for the advance. But Gilbert was not among them—he had placed himself so far to the rear that I wondered would he even see the attack at all!

Julian nodded to his brother respectfully and began. “Some years ago,” he said, “as of course you are well aware, our good father signed a truce with King Harry. He consented to all the conditions of the treaty upon his sworn oath, with God as his witness, and at risk to his immortal soul should he break his word. That truce did not bind two men only—but our two countries as well. Surely you must see this, Gilbert.”

“Nonsense!” said the king impatiently. “Father signed it, not I. And if Harry is such a fool as to think I will abide by it—well, he shall soon regret his own stupidity.”

“But
think
,” Julian went on, “of those hundred years and more of fighting, and all who lost their lives in it. Have you forgotten how endless it was, and pointless, and destructive of life and treasure? Please, brother—reconsider! It is not too late, even now, to turn away!”

The king grew red in the face—and this I could see even in the dim light of the forest. “What—would you have me play the coward and run from a fight?”

“No, Gilbert. There is no fight to run from! You have not been attacked. There is only a truce you intend to break, and a shameful plot you have devised that will bring dishonor upon our kingdom—and upon your name.”

“Dishonor upon my name? You fool! It shall be quite the opposite! After this night's victory, they shall call me ‘Gilbert the Great' or ‘Gilbert the Bold'! I shall be honored above all kings. How do you like ‘Gilbert the Conqueror'? I believe that is my favorite.”

I wondered, hearing him speak thus, if he knew that back in Moranmoor, the people already had a name for him: King Gilbert the Unfortunate. Then it came to me, with sudden horror, that he knew
right well
what they called him. He had brought his army here to
win himself a new name
! Men were about to die for the king's vanity!

“Oh, Gilbert,” Julian cried, “if you
truly
wish to prove yourself courageous and bold, then abandon this dreadful assault and take your army home!”

“Enough!”
the king cried. “I will listen to no more of this womanish whining! If you are
so
fond of peace, you have only to wait a few hours and you shall have plenty of it. We shall be inside the castle walls and victorious before the first lark has begun to sing. By sunrise there will be no Brutanna left for us to fight with. All this land shall be ours, Julian.”

“With the aid of treachery and assassins!”

“You always were a weakling, Julian. It is well that I am king and you are not.”

“Then be a
good
king, Gilbert, and show wisdom, and turn away from this butchery—for it is against all the laws of chivalry, and if you do this thing, you shall bring the wrath of God upon our heads!”

“The
wrath
of God?” The king laughed. “God is
with
us! Have you not seen how He has covered the moon with clouds so that our advance might be more stealthy?”

“Oh, Gilbert!” Julian cried. “Surely you cannot mean it—that the King of Peace would champion—”

“
Enough!
You tire me, brother. I will have you out of my sight this minute—though, in truth, I cannot think what to do with you. Perhaps we ought to tie you to a tree until the battle is over.”

“Do not glorify your enterprise, Gilbert. It will be no battle; it will be a
slaughter
!”

The king turned his horse away, to signal that the conversation was at an end. Just then we heard alarm bells ringing from within the castle walls. Gilbert turned back, wild with anger, and hissed at his brother. “So
that
is why you came here, you traitor, to buy some time for your good friend Harry! You told him everything!”

“No, Gilbert, upon my honor I did not!”

“
Take him away
,” the king howled, “for I will not look upon him any longer, lest I be tempted to end his life myself. Put him in the front lines, squire;
that's
what we shall do with him! Let him enjoy the view from there—for he has ruined all our plans!”

“Your Majesty,” I said, “may I untie his hands, so that he might at least have the use of his sword?”

“No. Let him lead the charge as he is. We shall see what a nice
pincushion
he makes, with a hundred arrows in that fine doublet!” Then he spurred his horse and trotted off yet farther to the rear, making petulant growling noises in his rage. He put me in mind of a child whose mother had refused him a sweet before dinner. Heaven help us, I thought, with such a man as our king!

We rode back in silence. Julian, I supposed, must be brooding over what lay ahead for him—a dishonorable death, his reputation forever stained with the name of traitor. Or perhaps he was not thinking of himself at all, but only of the battle to come and how he had failed to stop it.

I confess it amazed me that he'd even tried. Not even the
duke
—brother to the old king, honored in war and admired for his wisdom and authority—not even
he
had dared to speak against Gilbert's plan. Who would have expected timid
Julian
to do it? A lesser man would have fled the castle and saved his own life instead of riding into the forest and risking all manner of danger to stop a massacre.

Suddenly I felt such a swell of affection for this noble prince I had disdained in my youth! I could not bear the thought of leaving him there in the front lines, bound and unprotected by shield or armor—though I
had
been ordered to do so by my liege lord, the king of Moranmoor.

“Shall I untie you, Julian?” I asked. “Will you fight with us?”

“I will not,” he said, “for I believe this assault to be wicked and shameful. I refuse to be a part of it.”

“Indeed, I agree with all my heart,” I said. “Will you ride out to join King Harry, then? I will not stop you.”

“I cannot do that, either.”

“What, then,” I asked. “Will you die like a dog?”

“No—like a pincushion!” he said with a bitter laugh. “But at least I shall go to God without this sin upon my head.”

“You always
were
a strange bird, Julian,” I said with a grin.

“True enough,” he answered.

I turned away then, only to reverse myself seconds later. “To the devil with your everlasting pride!” I said, drawing out my dagger and cutting his bonds. “Decide as you will what side you will fight upon! And may God go with you.”

I left him, then, with the first line of knights, just behind the archers. Julian's sword would be of little use to him against a thousand arrows, I knew. But at least he would have his dignity; he would not die a captive.

And so I returned to my place among the duke's men. The army was already moving out from their concealment amongst the trees. The clouds had begun to break up by then, so that first the moon was glowing behind a cloud, and then it was bright for a moment, and then it was dark again. The king probably thought God was providing light for us to see by—now that a stealthy assault was no longer possible.

In the distance I could see villagers fleeing into the castle while the first contingent of Harry's knights was riding out. This surprised me. I had expected him to fight from the safety of his castle walls. He must not have provisions enough to withstand a siege, I thought. And his castle was more of a palace, now, than a fort. He had made the wise choice, then. Better to come out and fight us now, and not give us time to bring in reinforcements.