The Stolen Kingdom

On Robert’s eighteenth birthday, his father sat him down in the dining room and placed in front of him a long, sleek black box, which Robert sat staring at anxiously. The chubby boy was not thin, but he had by now slimmed down and turned much of his childhood fat into muscle. His features were sharper; his height nearly six feet.

  His father sat down on the opposite side of the large pine table, coolly pouring himself a glass of his favorite red wine.

  “Open it,” he said at last, sipping slowly from the glass. “It’s a present.”

  There were two latches that secured the box, and Robert pushed them both up with eager fingers. The box top itself was heavy, heavier than it looked, and required a good deal of force for Robert to get it open. But when he did, his face lit up.

  “Why Father,” he said, “it’s beautiful.”

  “Take it out,” his father instructed.

  Robert nodded and, with steady eyes, carefully placed his hands within the box, a moment later bringing forth a large, shiny sword with the initials RR carved into the golden handle. He held it up in the air and began to examine its sharpness.

  “Try it on,” said his father.

  Robert went into the case again, this time bringing out a large belt, which he clasped around his waist. There was a scabbard attached on the left side, in which he inserted, extracted, and reinserted his new weapon.

  “Do you like it?” Sir Roth asked.

  Robert smiled. “I love it,” he said.

  “Good,” his father said. “But there’s more to it than just the sword, you see…”

  “More?” Robert repeated.

  His father nodded.

  “I purchased it with a particular purpose in mind,” he said. “A particular… role, you could say…”

  “Oh, yes? And what’s that?” Robert inquired eagerly.

  Sir Roth rose up from his chair. He took his wine glass in his hand and began to pace slowly toward his son, swinging the glass back and forth like a pendulum.

  “I have spoken to the King,” he said, a tinge of pride lining his voice, “and both he and I agree that you are ready to make your mark in this world – to serve kin and country, if you will – just as you always wanted. We have discussed your future in great detail and have come to the conclusion that it would be in all ways appropriate for you to receive a commission in the King’s Grand Legion…”

  Robert felt a sudden rush of joy. The Grand Legion had always been a dream of his. The Grand Legion only accepted the finest, most skilled fighters, and was considered the elite force of Monastero. It was an army of heroes, stitched together with honor and valor. To be in the Grand Legion meant to be a soldier of the utmost distinction. His father once numbered among them, and now Robert would as well.

  “We expect,” his father continued, “that you will serve your country with honor, and that in such company you will accede to the highest of levels, and maybe even – someday – serve your country in a higher capacity yet.”

  Robert was nearly bursting with excitement. His eyes became watery and his whole body began to shake. He threw his arms about his father’s neck and squeezed as tight as he knew how.

  “Oh, thank you, Father!” he cried. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  Sir Roth patted his back.

  “I won’t let you down,” Robert said.

  “I trust you won’t,” his father returned. “I suppose you are happy, then?”

  “Yes,” Robert replied. “Very happy, Father. Very happy.”

  Robert stepped back and drew out his sword again. He looked it up and down with pride. The Grand Legion, he thought, The Grand Legion! It was all he had ever wanted. It was what he had been wishing for since he was a boy. It was perfect! Everything was perfect!

  Well…almost.

  He looked back over at his father, the sword still waggling in the air.

  “Father?” he said.

  “Yes, my son?”

  Robert rubbed his chin.

  “I do have…one request.”

 

  …………………………………………..

  “Hello, Mrs. Cooper…Is Taylor in?”

  “Come on in,” Brianna said, stepping to the side. “He’s in his room….Taylor!” she called.

  “What?” came Taylor’s voice.

  “Robert is here,” she said. She walked over to the table and sat herself back down, intent on finishing some sort of blanket or shirt or both (she herself knew not) which she had been working on the whole day now.

  “Happy birthday!” Taylor cried, appearing from the small hallway that led to his room.

  “Taylor,” Robert said, his voice low and eager, “come with me. Let’s take a walk.”

  “What is it?” Taylor asked.

  Robert waved his hand. “Come on,” he said, “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  The two stepped outside and began strolling the hillside. They wandered through the meadow and down by the stream, maneuvering around the lake and following the path up toward Roth Castle.

  “What is it?” Taylor asked at last. “I know you haven’t brought me here just to enjoy the view, now, have you?”

  Robert shook his head.

  “No, I have not,” he said. “I have good news for you, Taylor.” He glanced up, hoping to catch the suspense in Taylor’s face, but he found nothing other than curiosity. “My father,” Robert continued, pausing in his stride momentarily, “has asked me to be in the Grand Legion…”

  “The Grand Legion!” Taylor cried. “Why, that’s spectacular! It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

  Robert smiled at him.

  “I told him I couldn’t,” he said.

  Taylor’s eyes nearly burst out of his head.

  “Are you crazy?” he said. “Being in the Grand Legion has been our dream ever since we were children. How could you tell him ‘No’?”

  “I told him I couldn’t…” Robert explained, “…without you.”

  Taylor’s mouth dropped to his feet. His eyebrows knitted and he shook his head in disbelief.

  “Taylor…” Robert said, placing his hand atop his dear friend’s shoulder, “…our dream has come true.”

  …………………………………………..

  And so, Taylor and Robert were both placed within the ranks of the Grand Legion. The Grand Legion was in charge of the King’s protection, and responsible for the domestic security of the nation. The King was very well liked, and so normally little more than crowd control was required of them. Still, when a serious situation did occur, the Grand Legion was expected to be the tiny nation’s most aggressive defenders.

  The Grand Legion was known to be the most loyal service. Before being sworn in as an official member, each applicant had to take an oath of loyalty to king and to country, to “honor and defend.” The Legion was the smaller of the two armies of Monastero (the other being the Royal Military Force), yet the more feared due to the well-known skills and training of its servicemen, who were believed to be amongst the most elite fighters around.

  Taylor and Robert were both assigned to King Peter’s personal guard, which did not quite suit their adventurous spirit, though it did suit their sense of duty. They found the King to be an amicable and reasonable man, one with whom you could openly converse with without so much as an inkling that he was head of his country. Often he would consult with Robert and Taylor on various matters, from foreign affairs to his personal hobbies, and the two became near friends of his; for “near friends” is all you can truly become with a king.

  Despite being in the King’s personal guard, Taylor and Robert did manage to see fighting on two particular occasions. Monastero had such a small army, in fact, that it was not unusual that every man in it saw fighting at some time. The first time that Taylor and Robert saw fighting was when they had to confront a frantic mob in the dukedom of Esslinger, one of the smaller dukedoms in the kingdom. A man by the name of Brager had been executed there for stealing gold from the duke’s cast
le, and it had sparked a riot.

  Brager’s family was a wealthy one, with many friends, and Brager had only stolen the jewels as a stunt of daring-do, in order to impress a young maiden. Following the execution, his family and friends gathered around the gates of the castle, demanding that Sir Esslinger emerge and confront them. Sir Esslinger, however, fearing for his life, refused, causing the crowd to become loud and rowdy. They started to chant and scream, “Down with Esslinger! Down with the dukedom!” as more and more people gathered. The duke’s men tried to disperse them, but to no avail, for this only made the crowd more determined and violent. A full-fledged confrontation between the duke’s guards and the people was becoming inevitable, until, finally, the Grand Legion was called in.

  Their arrival alone caused the people to settle down some, but there were still those that ran wildly amok, burning and pillaging whatever they pleased. Taylor and Robert both sympathized with the family and friends of the man that had been executed, but they knew just as well that mob violence could not be tolerated, and therefore exercised their duty with the utmost confidence.

  Little harm was done before the rebellion could be squashed, and the Grand Legion suffered few injuries. Robert received a slap in the face from a crazed woman who was trying to set fire to a merchant’s hut, but other than that, he and Taylor came out unscathed, and the dukedom itself came out with little more than a flesh wound.

  Another time, though, the results were not so fortuitous. A crew of bandits, led by a man named Di Donna, an immigrant from present-day Italy, seized a small plot of land in northern Monastero, around the town of Croasdale, and attempted to establish his own fiefdom through torture and murder. The group was a ruthless one, taking no prisoners and pillaging and killing at will while the villagers fled for their lives.

  The Grand Legion was called in, with every last man that could be spared being summoned to squash it.

  Taylor and Robert arrived on the scene ready for action, along with a force of two hundred and fifty men. The bandits had a force of at least a hundred and fifty, as well as a strong, fortified position on high ground. They had built themselves a fort out of logs and mud, anticipating the coming battle and anxious for action. Archers were perched at various points along the hillside, waiting in high hopes for any Grand Legionnaire who might dare to challenge their position.

  The leader of the Legion force was a man by the name of Adams; a strong willed man with harsh features who often led his men more by wit than wisdom. Adams was confident, but pompous, and often unmindful of others. He rode around on his gray stallion as if he were the king himself, constantly removing and adjusting his fine white satin gloves.

  Taylor and Robert had been pleading with the King for months to let them see action, and now, by way of making them Sir Adams’s aides, he had granted their request. Neither Taylor nor Robert liked Adams, but this they did not show, always careful to display reverence to a man of higher rank, especially one who had seen so many years of service.

  Taylor and Robert’s horses were ruddy, and not quite as high as Sir Adams’s. This was done intentionally, a gesture that was meant to let everyone know exactly who was in charge. Taylor wished that he could ride Courage into battle, for by now he had become quite good friends with the steed, and the two rode like one; but the general would not hear of this. He wanted only Grand Legion horses, and it was either his way or no way, and that was it.

  “We’ll hit’m full force, straight on,” said the general to one of his colonels, a rotund man with a droopy brown mustache. “Get your men ready. We attack on the hour.”

  Without waiting for a response, Adams rode off on his high horse, with Taylor and Robert following closely behind on their ruddy brown ones. The general slowed to a stop, taking a moment to look over the landscape and cogitate. He was interrupted, however, by the voice of Taylor James.

  “Sir Adams,” Taylor said, “I beg your pardon, but if I may make a suggestion.”

  Sir Adams gave him barely a glance.

  “Speak,” he said.

  “Well, Sir,” Taylor continued, “I believe that a full-fledged frontal attack might be the wrong move in this instance. Instead, I might try to starve them out for a while, in hopes that they may concede without further bloodshed. That will also give us time to await the cannons we requested from Bigsby”

  “And if that doesn’t work?” Adams asked.

  “Well, then I would decoy them into believing that we’re going to proceed with a frontal attack, but then surprise them on the western flank, for they seem to be much weaker there.”

  Adams coughed into his glove. He turned a supercilious brow to Taylor.

  “My boy,” he said indignantly, “I have been in the King’s service for more years than you have lived. I believe I am quite capable in these matters.” Then he spun his horse round and added firmly, “As for that cannon invention you speak of, we’re yet to ever use the darn things, and even if we were, we have perhaps two in all of Monastero, and frankly I’m not truly convinced they work. Furthermore, it could take days for them to be dragged here, anyway. By that point, the enemy could have strengthened its position, escaped, or attacked. No. We will attack from the front and we will succeed.” He trotted away arrogantly, murmuring, “Nineteen years old and already he thinks he knows better than me…”

  Taylor looked to Robert.

  “I thought you were right,” Robert comforted.

  …………………………………………..

  Had Taylor or Robert had much time to think about what was to happen, it would only have served to further unnerve them (for anyone who claims not to be scared when faced with the possibility of losing his or her life is either lying or insane). But Adams had insisted that they move on the fort immediately, and so he had charged his two young lieutenants, his “King’s boys” as he called them, with the duty of forming the lines.

  Some of the others had not taken well to having to listen to instructions from such “novices,” but still Taylor and Robert worked efficiently. They set the lines as best as they could, spreading the men to avoid making them easy targets for arrows. However uncertain they were of Adams’s strategy, they made certain to appear to the others as nothing but confident.

  They tied their horses to a post and took up their positions on foot with their men.

  The Grand Legion lines of crimson and navy were ready, their chain mail reflecting the morning sun. Adams posed atop his fine stallion out in front, raising his sword theatrically in the air. Taylor and Robert watched patiently from behind, their hearts thumping with the fear and excitement of battle. In the eyes of the men in front of them they could sense the same feeling, that moment of chill which precedes what will be either the greatest of victories or the gravest of defeats.

  A drum roll could be heard vibrating in the air. The men in the fort stood perched in their positions, awaiting the onslaught, as the men who would be leading that onslaught stood firmly at attention.

  Adams held his sword till the drum roll had finished. Then, pausing for just a moment, he pointed it toward the hillside and, in the shrillest of voices, rented the air with a cry of, “Charge!”

  In an instant the men were running like one vast body of fury toward the fort, with Taylor and Robert leading the way. Their hearts beat like drums, pushing them forward in a rhythmic thrust of valor. Screaming and shouting and waving and rushing! Dead voices rushing forth in shrills of passion!

  A downpour of arrows shot out from the fort, some lit with fire, others evidently tipped in poison. The Grand Legionnaires carried shields of metal, but some of the arrows found their way around them, striking into necks and ankles. And so they fell, as the feet of others passed over them. A quarter of them would never make it to the fort.

  To Robert, it was by far the scariest thing that he had ever beheld. Fear gripped him like it would grip any other, but he could not stop – he had to lead his men on. Waving his sword frantically in the air, he commanded the
others to follow. “Follow me!” he called. “To the fort!”

  Taylor, meanwhile, being forced to take cover from a deluge of arrows, had fallen somewhat behind, and was doing his best to make haste and regain ground. He could hear Robert’s voice ahead of the pack, and he began racing to catch up with him, his heart charging like the wind.

  More men, and more men falling! The fort bred death in its approach, some collapsing right at the high log walls. Men pushed forth with ladders and set them onto the logs, as those inside the fort tried to push them back. They met them with swords.

  Robert jumped onto a ladder to scale the wall. An arrow came at him and he ducked it by mere inches. The man that had fired that arrow was felled by a thrust through the heart, the first man Robert ever killed. For a moment he was startled, for he had never quite thought about what it would be like, but he quickly recovered himself and pressed on, over the wooden walls of the fort and into the main square.

  A man jumped down in front of him, thrashing at Robert with his sword. He knocked the shield from Robert’s hand, but he countered with the Tchaban maneuver and quickly the man was no more. Another stepped forward, but he too went down, the strength of Robert’s blow cutting through his chest.

  Kill! Turn! Heart beating. Must survive. Thrash!

  In his peripheral Robert noticed Taylor scaling the wall on the other side, but he did not have time to greet him, for soon he was again engaged, this time with a raggedy looking man with a club. The man swung his weapon with brute savagery, and Robert had to dive head-first out of the way. He rolled, jolted up – and caught the man in the shoulder with his sword just as the brute stood ready to clobber him. Not wasting any time, he jerked the sword loose again, and reinserted it in the man’s heart, bringing the conflict to a sudden conclusion.

  He turned quickly, ready for more, and was surprised by a sharp, digging pain in his leg. He had been caught off-guard by a burly, massive man, much stronger than himself, who was now coming at him with the most terrible strikes. Had Robert not turned when he did, the man would most certainly have caught him in the head rather than the leg, and that would have been the end for him. But now he had other problems.

  Reeling back from his injury, Robert defended himself as best he could, shielding blow after blow from the massive brute with his sword. But he could not withstand the brute’s strength. Against all odds, he held him off, until finally, with one tremendous stroke to Robert’s sword, the man sent him crashing down onto the ground, his weapon landing just out of reach to his right. Robert watched in utter despair as the man raised his sword above his head. He closed his eyes, awaiting death, but felt nothing. When he opened them a moment later, he saw the man still standing over him, but this time the end of a sword was poking through his chest.

  Blood poured slowly from the man’s trembling lip, and a second later he had fallen, sent crashing to the ground with a loud thump. In front of him, where once stood the man, Robert spied the tall lean figure of Taylor James.

  He was still staring in grateful incredulity as Taylor extended his hand. Robert gripped it and pulled himself back up.

  Now, as was meant to be, the two fought side by side, watching for each other as they took out man after man. Together they brought over a dozen more men to their ends, while their army, tired and deteriorated, managed to take the hill and capture the fort. Gradually, the bloodshed drew to a close, with Adams’s men – half of the original force – standing their ground victoriously.

  . ………………………………………….

  Courage rode down the hill toward the Cooper house, united again with his master, who sat atop him looking proud and dignified, a band of blue and red strapped around his shoulder. On the band were two medals: one for bravery in battle, the other for Extreme Heroism for saving Robert’s life.

  Taylor trotted slowly down, making hardly a sound. He slid off of Courage and tied him to the post. “Mother?” he called. “Father?”

  The door burst open and out ran the broad figure of Brianna, her arms spread from end to end.

  “Taylor!” she cried. “Taylor, you’re home!”

  She threw her arms about him and began to shower him with kisses, nearly suffocating the poor young fellow with love.

  “Taylor, m’boy!” cried Tibbie, stepping out from the doorway. “Taylor!”

  …………………………………………..

  Tibbie and Brianna sat spell-bound as Taylor recanted his latest adventure. He told them all about Sir Adams, and how they had charged up the hill, and all the rest, much of which Brianna listened to with bated breath.

  “So long as he’s all right,” Tibbie said. And to that they all agreed, though Brianna did say that she didn’t feel so good about all this fighting. Then she proceeded to cook-up a feast of all of Taylor’s favorites while Tibbie passed the time telling Taylor what little there was to tell of his own adventures in as long and humorous a fashion as one could manage. They took a good hour or two to finish their meal, and then Taylor decided to take Courage round to the Stockwells’, where Rosemarie ran out to greet him. Mrs. Stockwell, meanwhile, not wanting to feel undone, baked-up some goodies of her own, which Taylor enjoyed with them while once more relaying his adventures. He did not leave there until late in the evening, and by that point he was thoroughly exhausted. By the time he laid himself down to bed, it was only a minute or two before he was lost in a deep, deep sleep. Unfortunately, he would not wake well.

  Chapter 10

  A Simple Plan