The Forgotten King Read online

  Willard grew worried, and only a single way of escape presented itself to him. “Very well, but not until my other duties have been fulfilled. Only then can I seek out love. When it is time, I will come.”

  The lord smiled, “I am Lord Milada of Erlich,” he said, “And I will await your coming with great anticipation.” He bowed his head respectfully.

  Willard did the same and, bidding the lord farewell, turned toward the forest to depart. But Lord Milada beckoned him back, “Surely, you will not go your way dressed in old rags. Let me clothe you as best I can, for I have some monk’s robes with me that will suit you well, and keep you warmer than those when the night grows chill. Besides, who is poorer than a monk? Fetch them, Hismoni.”

  He said this latter part to one of the guards, all three of whom had recovered their senses; for the bandits had – for some mysterious reason – left them alive with little more than scratches. The guard went to the rear of the carriage and grabbed two frocks from the trunk that sat there, bringing them humbly to what he seemed to view as a mighty warrior.

  “Two I give you, my lord, for you are surely twice a man.” The guard said this to show his respect, and it was well received by the so-called Prince Willard, who bowed and gave him a friendly nod before turning and disappearing into the forest, anxious to be gone. Lord Milada and his guards then continued on their way, making haste to avoid any other criminals that might be lurking there, though there were none.

  When they had gone, Willard came back and looted the bodies of the slain bandits. The laws of the forest held no dishonor for those who took that which they had proved their right to by strength of arms. Willard felt no shame, for while he displayed at times an embedded sense of man’s law, he was also at times entirely devoid of such concepts as an honorable burial. In his world, the dead were eaten – and why not, for it provided life for those scavengers that partook of them.

  Without a thought, therefore, he took the leather armor from the leader and the gold pieces which filled his purse. Then he set off into the forest with his blood brother walking beside him, both exalted after their great victory, a proof of their might. Willard, especially, was excited, for he had gone from being a mere wild man, to a noble prince who was fated for marriage and the throne – if those things were even blessings. It was then that thoughts of power and pleasure outside of his beloved forest began to fill his mind. He thought of living in a castle, with servants and luxuries and honor among men. When a person has no desires, he is content; but when he is given a little, he must have more. This is what happened to Willard at that moment, when all the possibilities of life opened up to him, and he became eager to try himself outside the forest, among men such as himself.

  Chapter 3

  Willard and Horatio had walked twenty yards into the forest when the young man had an idea. It was an idea that could not be suppressed, an idea to which he soon yielded and resolved to carry out: he had better go and make his way in the world, to make himself worthy of the great honor that had been bestowed upon him. He stopped walking and beckoned to the bear to come back to him, for he had wandered some distance ahead, as was their habit while hunting.

  Willard had Horatio stand on his hind legs, which he could do with extraordinary dexterity. Taking one of the monk’s frocks, he slipped it over the bear’s head, pulled it down to his feet, and brought his arms through. It worked wonders, for with the hood pulled over his face – in a way not uncommon among monks – the thick, brown robes gave Horatio the physique of a very tall, fat man. The bottoms covered most of his feet, and the parts that showed did not look altogether inhuman. It was the same with the hands – or rather, front paws. Yet they took on the form of hands when he stood erect.

  Once the robes were on, Willard walked around Horatio and looked him over from head to toe, then whistled a tune and laughed, “Horatio, you were born to be a friar.” He took one more trip around the bear and then put on his own frock, fastening his sword around the waist. It was a little out of the ordinary for a monk to wear a sword, but in those places monks did whatever they pleased.

  With their disguises in place, Willard led the way back to the road, and they began to walk in the opposite direction as Milada and his entourage had gone – east. They made a good pace, and Horatio easily walked upright, making a convincing a monk. They were three days on the road, and nothing important happened until the third night, when they came across an inn – the first sign of civilization as they began to grow near to the capital city of Eden. The city was still a hundred miles away, but there were several inns and small settlements along the road as it drew near. The rest of the forest roads were deserted.

  Willard still had the bag of gold coins he had looted from the bandits, so he decided he would spend the night there and see what he could see. The inn itself was small and made of wood, a low rectangular building with white walls and yellow trim. Upon the door, and again on the sign, was painted a coat of arms, though done by a trembling hand. The windows were bright and cheery from the fire within, but the light was dimmed by the smoke of the same. It was already growing dark and the forest fast becoming solemn, so Willard and Horatio entered and were greeted by a blast of warm air from the rooms, carrying on it the smell of smoke and ale, the characteristic scents of a frontier inn.

  The main room was almost the same shape as the building itself, for the only separate rooms were the kitchen and a private bedroom for the innkeeper, both of which were cramped. The main room served as the dining and sleeping room. A counter ran along the wall opposite the door, a few tables sat adjacent to the left wall, and the other space was outfitted with little beds of hay, upon which the traveler could lay his bedclothes. In addition to the proprietor and his wife at the counter, there were three stubby merchants with short hair and long noses sitting at one of the tables. There were also a few half-drunk lumberjacks and peddlers congregated in the far corner.

  Amidst the smoke, Willard could see the fire was burning well, so he led Horatio over and took a seat at one of the nearby tables. He talked to Horatio in a pretending sort of way, to allay any suspicions that the bear was not human. With that done, he rose and walked to the counter.

  “Hello there friar, is your throat dry or – are you looking for something to eat? Some ale, some meat?” The innkeeper hailed him in a gruffy, sing-song manner, wrinkling his stump of a nose like a charging bull, and running a hand through his greasy hair to make it stick upwards in a haphazard manner, which he apparently thought made him handsome.

  “A little of both, and some bread – enough for two, if you please, sir.” Willard sat calmly down in front of the man, remaining polite despite the other’s comical mannerisms and rhyming speech.

  “Bread, beef, and beer for the gentleman here!” He called to his wife who was working in the kitchen. He then played his eyes back and forth like two rolling balls, trying subtly to ask Willard where he was from. But it was unintelligible to Willard, as it would have been to most who did not know the strange Innkeeper. Eventually the middle-aged man grew impatient and chimed at his customer once more, “I don’t recall having seen you at all, or are you new these parts, come to save some old hearts?” This allusion to missionary work among the isolated forest dwellers was brought on by Willard’s appearance, for he was still dressed as a monk.

  “No, good sir, I have just finished a very long period of hermitage with my friend over there,” here he pointed to Horatio, “So we are headed toward the coast and the more civilized areas of Atilta for the first time in years. More than that, I cannot remember – though I would be pleased to here some tales while I wait for my supper.”

  “Who was king when you left, the man of right or the man of theft?” The Innkeeper pointed one of his long, slender fingers at a picture of a man in royal garb that hung on the wall behind him. He had a thick black beard, sensitive eyes, and a Romanesque nose – apparently the ‘man of right’ to whom the Innkeeper referred.

  “He was king.” Willard
paused a moment and looked at the painting with curious eyes, for it was very familiar, like something he had seen so many times. Yet he could not place it. “But you seem to imply that he is king no more? How can this be?” His deep voice was driven through with emotion.

  The Innkeeper was doused in emotion himself, and could only turn his head to hide his leaking eyes: a pedantic patriot. “Gylain has taken the throne, and Atilta left to mourn its own.” Then silence came on the Innkeeper, and he fled to the kitchen in a passion. Willard sat in silence as he waited for the matron of the house to finish preparing his supper.

  Meanwhile, not twenty feet behind him the three stumpy merchants came up to Horatio, sitting beside him at the table and hoping to have a drink with the gigantic monk. They were identical, but that one had blond hair, one brown, and one black. Their other features were the same: a long, crooked nose; two beady eyes that their big sockets made look like pearls in an oyster; and an over-sized mouth. They sat down and offered Horatio a drink, but he could only grunt, not knowing what to do.

  “Have a drink with us you big brute! We are the Fardy brothers, men of patience and virtue. But though I could not care more if you despised me, I will not let my brothers be spurned. Now drink, or I will pour it down your throat like so much water down a river,” said the blond Fardy.

  “He is no liar, you overgrown preacher. Mother always said I was a patient man, but when I am insulted more than it is right to bear, I can become angry,” said the brown Fardy.

  “No one can steal your steel tempered temper, brother, but have you not taken into account that this monk might have taken a vow of temperance, not to take a drink for the sake of the church? That would make us his tempters, and it is better to have a millstone tied around one’s neck and be thrown into the sea, than to lead one of his little ones astray,” said the black Fardy.

  “Little ones? He is no little one!” roared the first. “Size up his belly, brothers, and tell me he does not take a gallon of Atiltian scotch each meal!”

  “A single gallon? I reckon two! There is nothing temperate about that monk, my long suffering brother, and what he refrains from doing he refrains from spite,” cried the brown Fardy.

  “Perhaps he has taken a vow of silence, and we would be better not to tempt him from his holy work,” returned the dark one.

  “Vow of silence? Brother you are more peaceful than I and that is no virtue in my book! I saw him chatting like a drunken nun with his friend, just moments ago. The only vow of silence he has taken is against the Fardy brothers; and though for myself I do not take offense, I cannot let my brothers be bullied!” With this, the blond Fardy brought both his fists down on the table with such a thud that the board cracked and his cup catapulted into the air, landing on the brown Fardy’s head and spilling its contents all over his clothing.

  Thus injured, the brown brother yelled, “By the devil, he has set us against one another, brothers. We must not let his warlike nature overcome our peaceful ways. The quill triumphs over the sword! Remain calm in the face of his outrages, my brothers!”

  The noise of the thud had gotten Willard’s attention, and seeing what was happening to Horatio, he leapt up and went over to the table.

  “Excuse me, dear sirs, has my companion done anything to rile your tempers?” he asked, giving them a respectful bow.

  The respect served only to confirm their high opinions of themselves, and the blond brother said, “Your companion has cruelly wronged us by refusing to drink, or even to speak, with us. Though we keep our tempers, his subversive ways inflame them unto bursting.”

  Willard remained calm, imparting some of his steadfastness to them by the peaceful nature of his eyes. “You must excuse my companion, for he speaks only Latin and has given up drink. I hope my apology for his conduct will excuse him?”

  “Not at all,” cried the brown Fardy, “He could have signaled to us in the very least. But no, he sat there and looked at us with contempt. We must duel, here and now!”

  “Duel, here and now,” repeated the blond brother.

  “Perhaps we should have an arm wrestle,” suggested the black Fardy in a conciliatory voice, “For no one will get hurt, yet it is still a way for us to prove our strength against him.”

  “A grand suggestion, my brother,” rejoined the blond brother as he eyed Willard’s ornate sword with greed, his merchant’s instincts possessing him to possess it, “And perhaps we can make a wager: a full suit of the finest mail for that sword. It is fair, considering the odds.” He said this with a greedy light in his eyes, for it was never heard of before that three men could be defeated by one in an arm wrestle. But Willard was confident, for he knew what his opponents did not: Horatio was no man.

  “I accept your odds,” he said, “And let the people in this room take witness that the bet has thus been laid.” He motioned to the others in the inn, who had come over to see what was going on. They all assented, and looked forward to the match with great excitement.

  Willard said some words in Latin that he somehow remembered from his youth – though he could not recall why – and made his signals to Horatio to let him know what to do. He looked at the crowd and pointed to the bear, whom they thought to be a monk, and said in a confidential manner, “ Mens sana in corpore sano .” They cheered, though they had no idea what it meant.

  Horatio then put his elbow to the table and held his paw in the air, looking at Willard in order to follow his lead. The three Fardy brothers each grasped his paw with both of their hands, putting all their weight behind their arms. This was against the rules, and the crowd booed. But Willard allowed it, to add the sympathies of the crowd to their side. The Innkeeper began the countdown, “One, two, three, begin the jamboree!”

  The three brothers heaved all the weight and force they could muster against the monk’s arm, and for a moment it seemed they would win, for they slowly pushed his hand toward the table. The crowd became silent and held their breath, hoping the monk would overcome the odds and defeat the rowdy Fardy brothers. Further and further down the monk’s arm was pushed, until his hand rested only an inch from the table. The crowd screamed air in suspense, and the brothers began to smile at their victory. But then Willard winked at the bear, who winked back. Suddenly his arm stopped moving downward, and no matter how hard the brothers pushed, they could move it no further.

  The crowd trembled with impatience. Then, after a moment of such suspense, the bear began to move his hand up, and slowly it rose, despite the brothers’ desperate attempts to stop it. With an expensive suit of armor on the line, it was more than personal to them. The bear’s arm reached a perpendicular angle with the table and continued on, without the monk losing his breath. He did not tire, though the brothers were wheezing, with little waterfalls protruding from their brows. Then it was over. The bear swung his paw down in a fury and crushed the brothers’ hands beneath his. The crowd let out a loud, jubilant roar, cheering for the victorious underdog, without having any idea that it was not a man at all, but a bear.

  “Who could have thought that it would be, that a single man should vanquish over three!” shouted the Innkeeper.

  The three brothers were in a state of awe, and though they opened their mouths many times to speak, nothing came forth. Their eyes hung open like their mouths. At last, the black Fardy whispered, as if his voice would never return, “Let us make a receipt for the goods.” The others assented, and they fetched a piece of parchment and some ink and wrote out the following:

  The Three Fardy Brothers, merchants of the city of Eden, do here give to Willard a receipt for a suit of armor, it being the one once owned by the King of Atilta, before he was deposed. To be given over upon the presentation of this receipt at the brother’s store in the aforesaid city.

  Signed, the Fardy Brothers.

  The paper was given reluctantly over to Willard, as the brown and black Fardys looked angrily at the blond, whose idea it had been to wager the priceless armor for the priceless sword. In fact, th
e idea had come into his head because the metalwork on the sword matched exactly that on the armor. How was it that such a sword came to be in the hands of a monk, or a wild man? That is for later in this history.

  For now, let me say that the brothers, though quick to anger, were also quick to leave it – in spite of what they claimed – and they became friends with Willard and Horatio after the arm wrestle was history, exchanging amiable good nights before each went off to his own bed.

  Chapter 4

  Willard and Horatio had just finished their morning repast in the main room of the inn, and were reclining to let it digest, as was the custom at that time. The smoke had slowly fled the room during the night, and by morning the air inside was fresh by comparison. The other guests had also dissipated, with the exception of the Fardy brothers, who now took breakfast with the two false monks.

  The blond Fardy was the first to break the silence which had come down with the third plate of bacon. “I know a man when I see one, Horatio, and you are surely the most man-like of all men. Now, I will admit to eating more of this food than can safely dwell within, but you have had enough to fill me thrice over – and that disregarding the bacon. I have heard the preacher talking about the great abyss where all is consumed, and before now I thought he was talking nonsense and rigmarole. Now I know,” and he laughed heartily, joined by his brothers.

  The brown Fardy laughed, “Horatio does not condescend to speak Atiltian with us laity, my patient brothers, but I suggest he will speak it soon enough with our Atiltian Scotch. Heave ho, there, Horatio: will you take this round for good, old King Plantagenet?” whereupon he poured Horatio a glass of scotch, which the bear downed without hesitation, to the brothers’ great amusement.

  “He is the living well itself, my brothers,” cried the blond Fardy, “How else could he take so much without unseating himself? The living well itself!”

  “Perhaps he has been so long without the pleasures of the table he cannot help himself?” suggested the black Fardy. “Has he not been secluded in a hermitage these last fifteen years?”