Sir Bentley and Holbrook Court (15 page)

“I fear that it is I who have brought this greater oppression to the people,” Bentley said.

Walsch wiped his face with his hand and looked over at his friend. “Yer more than you lead on to be, Ben o’ the south. I've known it from the beginning. Yer no commoner. Yer hands were not that of a farmer, and the way ye took on Avarick's knight—” He stopped midsentence. “Ye've been sent to us for a purpose.”

Bentley walked back and looked up at him. “By the ways of this kingdom, some may think me to be nobility. But by the ways of the Prince, I am just as common as the peasants of Holbrook—and as royal as the Prince.”

“Ye make no sense, Ben.” Walsch scratched his head. “But I've seen something in ye that I want, and I know the stories ye've told are more than fairy tales.”

“Your heart is as large as you are,” Bentley said. “Join me, and we shall serve the Prince together.”

“I am willing, but how?”

Bentley told him of the Prince. And there by the Crimson River, in the heat of a blistering day, another was added to the Knights of the Prince. Bentley felt nearly as invigorated by bringing one to the Prince as he had by choosing to follow Him himself.

“That is my purpose,” he told his new brother, “to bring to others what was given to me: a new life, a new purpose. And I will share that with every willing man, woman, and child of Holbrook.”

“Kingsley'll stand in your way,” Walsch said.

“Perhaps, but I don't believe he is our worst adversary.”

“Sir Avarick,” Walsch said soberly.

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do?” Walsch asked.

“I must go away, but I will return shortly.”

Bentley bid Walsch farewell and departed along the road that led northeast from Holbrook. It was the same road he had traveled months earlier, following Sir Demus to the small cabin nestled in the green hills north of the Brimshire Plains. Although he had gone to Holbrook merely to learn about the ways of the peasantry, his very presence had changed the course of lives.

The oppression the people of Holbrook endured was much more than a heavy yoke for them; it was a true prison. Bentley's journey to fully understanding the ways of the Prince had led him here, and now he could not simply turn away from their need.

Had Sir Demus known this all along, or was it coincidence that had entwined his life with the lives of these people?

Whether Sir Demus knew it or not, deep in his heart Bentley knew that once one chose the Prince, coincidence had very little to do with anything.

THE HOG FARMER'S
DAUGHTER

Bentley set his course toward the cottage, hoping that Sir Demus might still be tarrying there. He knew he might not find him, for Demus had indicated he would have other duties in Bentley's absence. He desperately desired the counsel of this wise mute man, but if that was not to be, there was another purpose for his return. It was time to collect his horse, take up his sword, and put on the full armor of the King.

Not too far out of Holbrook, the road rose up from the river plain and into the hills, and Bentley once again came to the fork in the road. One branch wove through the Brimwood Forest to the north, where Bentley could see portions of the beautiful Crimson River winding its way through the trees and toward Holbrook. The road he took led along the ridge of a hill for some distance and took him near Demus's cottage. By now the scorching afternoon sun had fallen far enough to the horizon to cast long, welcoming shadows.

Bentley arrived at the crest of the hill where he and Sir Demus had last trained. The cottage was just visible at the lengthy end of a small
valley on one side, and the distant checkered farms of Holbrook were visible on the other. He paused and considered the past few months as he gazed toward Holbrook and the road that had led him here. He breathed deeply and was just about to turn toward the cottage when movement on the road caught his eye.

A wagon with a driver, a rider on the back gate, and a single horse was nearing the fork in the road. Though the distance was too far to identify the driver's features, Bentley was certain that it could be none other than Eirwyn returning from a visit to the people.

He waved his arm high above his head, but he was far to the right of her view. He brought his hands to his mouth and took a deep breath to call out to her, then stopped as a slightly mischievous thought entered his mind.

The Mercy Maiden was a mystery to all of Holbrook. If he followed her to her father's hog farm, he might be able to discover more about this odiferous and unusual young woman. He watched as she took the road at the fork that led to the forest.

Bentley abandoned his trek to the cottage and wasted no time retracing his steps back to the fork. By this point, however, he was far behind Eirwyn's wagon—and he had known it would be difficult to catch up with her as it was.

The road Eirwyn took wound its way through the hills until it disappeared in the thick trees of the Brimwood Forest. Bentley followed, trailing far behind. At times, he lost sight of her completely. And once in the forest, she seemed to completely disappear.

Bentley quickened his pace and began to tire. Would he ever be able to catch her? The forest smelled sweetly of pine and honeysuckle. The dark green canopy above was pierced occasionally by dancing sunbeams that shifted slightly back and forth as the leaves gated their passing. Bentley smiled to hear the splash of a lofty waterfall a short distance to his left, where the Crimson River should be.

The road ahead continued to follow the winding path of least resistance
past large, rocky outcroppings and hills that would be too steep for a wagon burdened with a load of wares. At one point the road sloped sharply, and Bentley had to stop halfway up the hill to catch his breath. Sweat poured from his brow, for even though the forest protected him from the sun, its humid air was hot and heavy to breathe.

He rested with hands on his knees and looked ahead to the climb that awaited him. Though the waterfall was now behind him, the sound of it made him desire the cool quenching of thirst it offered. Still he trudged onward, up the rise in the road to the top of a knoll where the trees were thinner.

He stopped again at the top and looked ahead, hoping to catch a glimpse of Eirwyn. Though the section of road ahead was straight for a long distance, she was nowhere in sight. “Impossible!” he said.

He straightened and sucked in several deep breaths, quite at a loss over what to do. Farther travel down the road seemed pointless. She had either quickened her pace and was now too far ahead for him to ever catch her, or she truly was some apparition that only materialized outside the boundaries of the forest. It was a silly thought, but it did raise goose bumps on his arms despite the heat of the day. He simply couldn't explain her disappearance.

Bentley turned and began to walk back down the road he had just traveled, contemplating the mysterious Eirwyn. He eventually came to the sound of the falls again and stopped. It dawned on him that the road over the hill must have split farther up at a place he couldn't see. It was the only answer. He considered climbing the hill once again to find the other road, then realized again that Eirwyn would now be too far for him to catch her. He settled in his mind that tomorrow he would investigate further once he had recovered Silverwood… if his horse was still at the cottage.

Bentley became acutely aware of his thirst at this point, and the waterfall called to him more alluringly than before. He detoured off the road and set his course through the woods in the direction of the sound.
The forest floor dropped quickly away, and the terrain became more rugged as he neared the river. With some careful navigating, Bentley finally came to the rocky shores of the Crimson River, just downstream of the falls.

Here the river was only fifteen paces wide and perhaps as deep as a man, but the turbulent waters moved swiftly. The babble of waters slapping the rocks at his feet mixed with the now-thunderous sounds of the falls. He knelt beside the mossy rocks on the near bank and drank deeply; then he stood and looked toward the falls. They were much taller than he expected, and frothy waters at the base were partially hidden by a pervasive white mist that softened the hard edges of the rocky waterway.

Bentley was mesmerized by the beauty of the scene. He couldn't resist the urge to draw closer to this living canvas and touch the textured colors of the masterpiece. He made his way up the bank toward the base of the falls. Here the river widened so that the waters flowed much more slowly. At many places the river bottom rose up to within inches of the surface, where large flat rock shelves invited him to wade in the sparkling waters.

Bentley looked up again and noticed that there were actually two falls—a larger one that poured itself into the river near where he stood, and a smaller one off to the far side of the river. A craggy vertical rock formation divided the waters before they plummeted to the pools below.

Bentley breathed in deeply of the refreshing mist, invigorated by the sounds, smells, and magnificent beauty of the scene. He lingered for a moment and then turned to leave, but just then he heard the muffled whinny of a horse. At first he thought perhaps he had imagined it, for it was quickly lost in the thunderous sound of the falls. He listened again but heard nothing. Then came the jingle of a harness and the unmistakable scrape of hoofs.

He followed along the bank, making his way closer to the falls until he reached a peninsula of rocks that jutted far out into the shallow pool of water not far from the base of the falls. He looked toward the lesser
falls, which were partially hidden by the large rock formation that separated the waters. Just over the ledge of the lower portion of the rocks, he spotted a horse, a wagon, and Parson tending a fire on the far bank of the river.

Bentley smiled. He removed his cloth shoes, lifted the bottoms of his trousers past his knees, and waded into the bracing waters of the falls’ base pool. The farther he waded across the pool, the more he could see of the lesser falls. They were gentler falls, for only a fraction of the water spilled over the tree-high crest, and at places the water separated in midair into a shower of sparkling droplets.

Bentley waded out farther and deeper. He finally relented and allowed his trousers to become soaked. He came to the edge of the submerged rock shelf he was standing on and peered once more toward the falls and the far shore of the river.

He was now twenty paces away from the base of this falls and just on the near side of the rocky formation that separated the two falls. He could see clearly around the rocks to the lesser falls. There beneath the cleansing wash of the lesser falls he saw a young woman. She stood knee-deep in the shallow base pool wearing a full-length white undertunic, her face turned upward into the gentle spray.

It was Eirwyn, and yet it wasn't Eirwyn.

Bentley could not stop staring, for this Eirwyn was simply beautiful.