The Dark Duke loved arugula. He had a passion for it. He would have it with steak, with chicken, with pork. Everything. To him it was the be all and end all of food, the pinnacle of delicacy, the apex of appetite (of course, the Dark Duke was nuts, but that goes without saying). He had the seeds shipped in to him specially, since arugula did not normally grow in Belsden, and the people, quite unwillingly, paid for it all.
Since the shortage, the Dark Duke had had a special garden and wall built for his arugula, so that he might delight in some every night, with his meals or without. He had lines of arugula plants growing alongside the palace where previously there had been nothing but roses and daisies, and frequently he would take walks among these leafy green plants, examining one here, plucking one there, rubbing and tasting. It was one of his pleasures. And it is there that we now find him, standing before a great bush with his eyes upon one of its treasures, testing the weight with his hands, as Farv comes up behind him.
“You beckoned, Your Highness?”
The Dark Duke bit into some arugula, shook his head, and threw it away.
“Yes,” he said, turning. “You have news, I hope?”
Farv dropped his head.
“I’m afraid not, Sire.”
“And why is that?” asked the Dark Duke, rather calmly examining another piece of arugula.
“Well, to be honest with you, Your Highness, I feel that we may have underestimated him. Originally I thought him to be just some…” - he searched for the words – “…troublesome rogue at best, when in fact he has proven himself to be quite a formidable opponent. One even, that I must admire.”
“How so?”
“He’s a master strategist, Your Majesty. His skill for surprise is remarkable. He’s managed to take out our men time and time again, with little or no casualties each time. Objectively, it’s truly amazing.”
“Yes, yes,” snapped the Dark Duke, “he’s a god.” He jolted forward, grasping Farv by the collar and pulling him to his eyes. “Are you telling me that for two weeks the outlaw known as Taylor James and his group of bandits have outmaneuvered you and your trained cavalry of soldiers, and the best explanation you have to offer is that he’s ‘amazing’?”
Farv said not a word.
“This vagabond,” continued the Dark Duke, “has diminished my army and stolen my money. He has lent hope to those against me, and made me look like a fool in the process! I want him dead!, understand? – and quick-ly.” He tightened his grip, his nose a mere inch from Farv’s own.
“Yes, Sire,” said the general. “Night and day, I will work. Night and day.”
Chapter 28
The Day of the Feast