NINETEEN

EVENING LIGHT lingered golden in the trees as Durwin stood out on the great bartizan overlooking the King’s magnificent garden, now ablaze with a thousand lanterns. The music of the assembled minstrels floated over all, a delicate tapestry of melody woven as if from the petals of summer flowers.

Nervous young men escorted radiant young ladies along the garden paths. Children frolicked among leafy bowers, their laughter clean and clear, sounding like music played on silver instruments. Fine lords and ladies in gay costume moved gracefully among blue-and-yellow striped pavilions wherein danties were served. The Midsummer celebration at Askelon Castle was a feast for the senses, thought Durwin, sniffing the fragrant flower-scented air. A thing of rare beauty.

“Why so heavy-hearted, good hermit?” The voice was as light as the breeze which gently lifted the leaves in the garden. Durwin turned and bowed to his Queen.

“My Lady, your eyes are as sharp as they are beautiful,” he sighed.

“What can trouble your thoughts on an evening such as this? It is the night when all good things are dreamed-and you know that dreams may sometimes come true.”

“I wonder. Good does often seem so fragile against evil, the light so powerless against the darkness…” His voice trailed off without finishing the thought.

“That is not the Durwin I know. You sound as if you have been taking the King’s counsel.”

“Ah, so it is! How fickle a man’s mind, ever prey to his emotions. A weathercock for whatever winds may blow.” He laughed suddenly, recovering something of the mirth lacking before. “Yes, yes. How silly I am. What good is a physician who does not take his own cure?”

Alinea smoothly linked her arm in his and turned him toward the sweeping steps to the garden below. “Walk with me, kind friend. For I, too, have need of some good word.” A shadow moved across her lovely face. Durwin felt it like a pang.

“If words can help, then rely on it that I will say them.”

“I have been troubled today myself. A subtle unease disquiets my inmost soul, and most illusive it is. No cause seems readily apparent. Often I discover myself to be thinking of Quentin.”

“I would calm you if I could, but these are not the words for it. I, too, have been thinking of Quentin this day-and of little else. When you came to me just now I was thinking again of him, and of Toli, though even then I did not know it”

“Do you think they may be in some trouble? It seems silly, I know-”

“Not at all, my Lady, not at all. The Most High does often join our hearts with our loved ones in times of distress as well as joy. I have been praying for them all this day, though my prayers are uninformed.”

“I would that I had the knowledge of the Most High that you possess. Then I would not feel so disposed to the foolishness of a woman’s fears.”

“But you have something which does serve as well. You have the ability to believe without the need for reasons, or for great signs and wonders. Yours is a faith to endure.”

“And yours?”

“Mine will endure, but it is born of years of struggling and vain striving. I have come to my belief over a most circuitous and rocky path, and I cannot say which is the better. I think the god gives each soul what it requires, and there is the difference.”

“Still, I would know more of what you have learned in your quest. It cannot hurt to be informed.”

“Aye, my Lady. You speak aright. I will gladly teach you what little I know. But do not be surprised if in your heart you already know the truth of what I would instruct. It is often thus.”

They were silent as they reached the last step and entered the festive world of the Midsummer revelers. Alinea turned and looked earnestly into Durwin’s broad and weathered face. “What can be done for Quentin and Toli?”

“Nothing that has not already been done. Pray. It is no little thing.”

“Let me come to you when the celebration is over. We will pray together. If one heart alone may have effect, then two will speed the remedy. And your sure prayers will guide my own more directly to the mark.”

“As you wish, my Queen. I will await you.”

Just then the blast of trumpets rang out above them from the bartizan they had just quitted. They turned to see the King’s pages, their long trumpets in hand, snap to attention. Then King Eskevar himself was leaning on the stone balustrade looking down upon the merrymaking. Silence descended slowly over the garden as all eyes turned toward him. Even the giggling children grew quiet as they sensed something important was about to happen, though they regarded it as more of an interruption in their fun than an occasion of state. Their elders exchanged puzzled glances-it was not usual for the King to address his guests like this. But all waited to hear what he had to say.

“Citizens of Mensandor, my friends. I will not keep you long from your merrymaking, and I will join you soon. But I would tell you some things which have been on your King’s heart of late.”

There was a murmur of concern: some for the words, and some for the appearance of the King, whose haggard features were not at all disguised by his festive apparel.

“What I am about to tell you may cause you some concern. Please know that it is not my intention to worry you, nor cause you needless alarm.”

“What is he doing?” whispered Durwin.

“I do not know.” Queen Alinea shook her head. A line of concern appeared on her brow. “He discussed nothing like this with me.”

“But as your King,” Eskevar continued, his solemn tones descending like a leaden rain into the garden”, “I would be less than just if knowing of danger to our realm I did not at once warn my people to look to their safety.”

Now there was a general clamor and a voice called out, “This is a poor jest for Midsummer!” Another said, “Let the King speak! I would hear him out in peace!”

“It is no jest, my loyal friends. But my heart can no longer abide rejoicing while across fair Mensandor the wild, angry clouds of war are gathering.” He held up a hand to silence the outburst which followed this revelation. “Even now my marshalls scour the land to bring me word of our enemy, that we might know his strength and so arm against him. We shall fight for our land against any foe, and we shall win!”

The King’s voice had risen to a rant; he sounded like a madman, though his words were sane enough. A stunned silence fell upon the Midsummer revelers. Eskevar seemed to come to himself again and realized what he had done. His hand trembled slightly as he said, “Return now to your pleasure. It may be the last we will know for many dark days.” He turned and walked away from the balustrade and disappeared into the castle, leaving his guests to mumble in confused alarm.

“What can he mean by this? Oh, Durwin…” Alinea turned to the hermit, eyes filling with tears. “Is he…?”

“No, no. Do not be alarmed. He is as sane as you or I, perhaps the more. I believe that his great heart feels more deeply for this land than any other person’s. Somehow it is part of him; when it hurts, he hurts. I am certain that I am telling you nothing you do not already know.”

“That may be, but it is good to hear another say it. I have long known but to be unable to enter into gaiety when there is any un-happiness that he may cure. But he has never taken to this extreme.”

“Pray that I am wrong, my Lady. But it may be that we will have cause ere long to look upon Eskevar’s ill-timed warning as the act of a most brave and noble soul. I think he senses something that is not yet apparent to us. I fear we will share his forebodings too soon.”

“You will excuse me, Durwin. I must hurry to attend him just now. He will be wroth with himself for his outburst. He will want a cool hand to soothe his brow.”