Children of the Fountain (4 page)

“Yes. But it came naturally to me.”

“It is in your blood. You too, like the other children in the castle, are a descendant of the true scions. What happened to them, happened to their sons, grandsons and everyone who came afterwards.” With this last comment he pointed a gloved finger at Matthias.

“Grandson. I am the duke’s grandson.”

“Yes. Your father was Michael Cortés, the duke’s son.” Mr Hardy’s eyes narrowed for a second as he gauged the reaction from Matthias.

Matthias sat back in his seat. He wasn’t sure he was fit to continue the conversation. He had grown up without any family except Rebecca and now, within the space of a day, he had learned he had a father, a murdered mother, an uncle who had watched over him in secret all his life and now a duke for a grandfather.

A thought occurred to him. He tilted his head toward Father James. “So why was he –”

“In the abbey?” said the monk, before Matthias could finish his sentence.

Mr Hardy chuckled. “So James, you weren’t asleep after all then? I hope you don’t mind me filling Matthias in on some of your family history”

“Not at all. As long as it is a balanced view I have no complaint.”

The two men regarded each other as the coach continued to trundle. It was raining outside now and the noise on the roof made it hard to be heard. Father James had to increase the volume of his voice and it made Matthias start.

“I am afraid my father and I don’t get along. I serve the Lord, whereas he believes I should serve him. I am a man of peace, not violence.”

“Neither is your father, sir,” said Mr Hardy. “He uses the sword only to defend his family and those under his protection.”

“My father trains children to kill. I don’t care whether it is for their own protection or not. Using an innocent child as a weapon of war is a sin in the eyes of our Lord.”

Matthias looked at the monk and spoke softly. “Maybe if they had been trained in the abbey they would have been able to defend themselves?”

Father James turned swiftly on Matthias, his eyes wide and red. “I had those children taken away for their protection before my father could get his hands on them. They were orphans. They needed comfort and guidance; not to be set loose as killers!”

Mr Hardy cleared his throat. “That isn’t a word we like to use, James.”

“I thought you said the children were training to be soldiers?” Matthias asked.

Mr Hardy smiled, “Matthias, you must understand ours is a secret war. We do not fight on battlefields. We fight in the shadows. In the council chambers and amongst the politicians. The castle is merely a training ground to prepare our agents for their work.”

“So who are the Legion?”

The gentleman looked at Father James and raised an eyebrow as if to ask for permission to continue. The monk exhaled and sat back in his chair.

“You see,” said Mr Hardy, “your grandfather was with five other Spanish noblemen when they stumbled upon the secret. But they couldn’t agree on what to do with it.

“The six men came to blows and fought as they argued over whether to share their mysterious treasure with the world or to present it to the King of Spain. The duke and his two friends said it was too dangerous, whereas the others believed that Spain could conquer the world by means of the secret. And so, after a bitter feud, the duke and his friends hid forever what they had found, telling no-one. Vasco and his allies have been after it ever since.”

“Vasco?”

“Vasco Nunez. Six great families took up arms against each other. On one side the houses of Pizarro, de Ojeda and Legazpi aligned to the duke. And the other side the houses of Balboa, de Soto and Nunez.” As he said the last name he spat on the floor with disgust. “We believe the attack on the abbey was carried out by a member of the Nunez family. A man by the name of Balthazar.”

“How do you know it was this man?” Matthias asked, rage already inside him now he had a name to connect it to.

“Alonso asked around the village. It would seem he ate at the very inn we were in the day before. From his description and some questioning of the locals we are quite sure.”

“Where is he?”

“We do not know, but Alonso is on his trail. Unfortunately for Nunez our mystic has taken very badly to what happened at the abbey and swore an oath to bring the man to justice. If I were Balthazar Nunez I would pray death finds me first. Alonso is very skilled with a blade. He can make someone suffer for quite a considerable length of time.”

Matthias thought of the wicked smile he saw on the Spaniard’s face as they had left the village. His head leaned against the carriage wall and his mind span with thoughts of the duke, his family, the war and finally his sister who died without knowing any of this. He must have drifted into some form of sleep because when he was woken by Father James it was daylight but they were under a great shadow.

He shifted over to the nearest side of the carriage and stuck out his head. Immediately he was hit by the blinding light of the sun. Squinting, he held his hand over his eyes as they grew accustomed to the daylight. The wind blew across his face clearing his mind and sight in one hit, but nothing could prepare him for what he saw.

They were on a dirt track at the foot of a great hill around which sprawled a patchwork of farm fields. Every so often there was a solitary farmhouse, smoke trickling upwards from thatched roofs. A hamlet, Matthias speculated, where the farmers paid rent to the duke for use of the fertile land. Over to his right was a thick forest that had so many trees you could barely see into it much beyond the large old oaks that stood at the edge like guardians, and on the left a large river busily made its way past. But all this was overshadowed by a great castle, the like of which Matthias had never imagined in all his dreams.

Imposing dark towers of stone seemed to grow out of the very ground itself. All the way up the stained glass windows were lit from behind by the setting sun and seemed to project the multitude of coloured light outward into the valley like a rainbow. It must have been ten, no twenty, times the size of the abbey and as they neared it the light from the windows bowed down to the enormous shadow of the castle itself. Matthias was still hanging out of the carriage door and staring in awe as they passed twenty foot black iron doors that sat in the middle of the front wall. The carriage continued around the side of the castle through a smaller entrance. Inside, a large stables, warehouses and servants quarters all appeared in what amounted to a small village on top of the hill.

They came to a halt and Mr Hardy gestured for him to exit. Opening the door Matthias was met by a boy who set a wooden box under the door to allow him to descend with ease. The boy, who was dressed in a smart black tabard, stood to one side.

“Is this where the duke lives?”

The boy stood by the carriage snorted with laughter and Matthias felt the skin on his face go red.

“Come now, Harry. We’ll have less of that. Matthias, allow me to introduce your new roommate, Harry. He is a new arrival like you, even though he pretends not to be.”

The young boy’s hands instantly whipped to his side to attention like a soldier and the smirk vanished from his face. Matthias got a chance to take look at him. He had strong features and was bigger, but he also had a boyish nature on the face underneath golden brown hair which made Matthias think he was younger than he looked. His eyes gazed into the distance as he awaited a command.

“Indeed,” continued Mr Hardy, “Harry was so much of an expert when he arrived that he found his way to the latrines when he was looking for the storerooms. A mistake I am sure he will not be repeating, certainly not now he finds the time to mock others. Will you, Harry?”

“No, Mr Hardy,” was the sorrowful reply. The shoulders shrugged a little and it was clear he too was now every bit as embarrassed as Matthias had been.

“Harry will take you to your quarters and then I want you both in the mustering hall within the hour. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mr Hardy,” said Harry.

The gentleman disappeared and left the two boys alone. Harry gave Matthias a wink and said, “Come on then!” before darting toward a door and into the castle. Matthias followed.

The walls were bare stone, plastered in places, but for the main old and crumbling. Here and there oil lanterns lit the way and as he walked past door after door, corridor after corridor, Matthias was already feeling lost.

Finally they turned a corner and walked into a large hall. Several rows of tables and benches, at which sat children of various ages reading, eating or just playing games. At one table a couple of older boys were playing chess, at a second three girls were spinning wool whilst another read from her book and at one table Matthias thought he caught a glimpse of an older boy hiding something quickly in his coat. Fierce green eyes caught Matthias’s and it was clear he had noted an intrusion into his privacy.

They made their way to a corridor that led off the back before Harry opened the door to a small chamber.

“Our room,” said Harry. “Your things are in the trunk. We just passed through the mustering hall out there. I’ve got to finish my studying.” He scurried out of the door in a hurry.

Through the solitary window in the room enough light was let in to allow Matthias to inspect his surroundings in detail and his eyes fell immediately to the trunk. He opened it, expecting to see servant’s tabards or leather work clothes but was surprised to find the same black velvet outfit he had seen Harry in. Come to think of it, most of the other children back in the hall too. Was he not to work the land? Or take care of the animals? Work in the forest perhaps or look after game?

But then Father James’s words in the carriage came back to him.
Training children as soldiers?
Was that what the monk had said? Matthias must have misheard. He was tired and had been half asleep during the journey.

He took off his clothes and placed them carefully in the trunk; all the while at the back of his mind he retained the thought of needing them in case things didn’t work out. The abbey was all he had ever known and somehow putting his shirt and pants at the bottom of the trunk filled him with sorrow. He knew he could never go back. He finished putting on the black tabard and noted the coat of arms in silver thread sewn into the chest of the clothing. Three swords over a fountain, surrounded by a shield.

Dressed in his new black livery Matthias entered the mustering hall and took in the scene he hadn’t had a chance to fully examine when he was last hurried through. The duke’s shield hung on each corner of the large stone room, which had no windows but was lit by a giant chandelier hung from the ceiling. Four long tables dominated; each with benches running along its sides and children sat in groups talking or playing games. For a moment several pairs of eyes flicked upwards to look at him, but then each returned to whatever was occupying them before. Nobody, it seemed, wanted to even acknowledge he had entered the room.

Closest to him, reading on his own, was Harry. Further along the table sat a young girl also reading and at the other end a group of boys who looked like they were examining some tools in a box. A few younger children entered and left; all wearing the same black tabards and all ignoring Matthias. Some exchanged pleasantries with each other, but that was it. Gone was the ‘chitter-chatter’ of the abbey. No songs or laughter here. All the children seemed eerily quiet, almost as if Sister Helena was watching them. It was uncomfortable and Matthias decided to try and strike up a conversation when he sat down next to Harry.

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

Harry stared at the small book before him and, without looking away from the pages replied, “About a month.”

“What kind of work do you do?” continued Matthias, relieved he had even got a response.

“Work?” he scoffed. “We don’t work here. We learn.”

“I see,” responded Matthias, “so you’re training. Is that what you’re reading?”

“It’s what I’m
trying
to read.”

“I’d leave Harry alone if I were you”, said another, softer, voice.

Matthias looked up to see the girl opposite had put down her book and was addressing him.

“He’s got to learn the name of every organ in the human body by supper and he’s struggling.”

Harry scoffed again, but the girl continued. “Harry can be a real bore sometimes. My name is Sophie.”

“Matthias.” As he spoke he looked at her face. It was soft and slender; her eyes, although dark, shone like morning dew. Her straight black hair fell over her livery and blended in with the soft velvet. She stood up and walked over to him to shake hands; she was a little shorter than Matthias but seemed around the same age.

“Welcome. Have you just got here?”

“Yes,” he replied, “I lost my home. Alonso and Mr Hardy brought me here.”

“So you were
asked
to come here? You were not sent by your parents or guardians?”

“No,” said Matthias, “I came from an abbey. We were all orphans. Why? How did you get here?”

The girl tilted her head, “My family organised it. For them, it is the greatest honour to have me accepted. This place is a school. We learn so we can enter the duke’s service.”

“Learn what though? Reading? Why do we need to read if we are to be soldiers?”

“Soldiers? Whatever gave you that idea?” asked Sophie, with curiosity.

“I thought that’s what this place was. Aren’t we to be trained as an army?”

Again Sophie laughed and her eyes lit up her face.

“Why would my family pay for me to be trained as a soldier?”

Her chuckles had attracted the attention of the group of boys across the room. They began to walk around the table to stand the other side of Matthias. One of them, the tallest asked, “What’s the joke, Sophie?”

She looked up and, for a split second, her laughter stopped and was replaced by a scowl. Only Matthias noticed when the smile instantly returned but somehow it seemed forced.

“He thinks he’s being trained to be a soldier.”

The boy smirked, which was unpleasant to say the least. He was older and bigger than Matthias and looked mean. His face was pale but strong and he had short dark cropped hair. When he spoke, it was with disdain and disgust.

“Then he must be some sort of fool.” His accent was aristocratic and his tone resonated menace. As Matthias turned to look at him he noticed a dagger sitting in the boy’s belt, just like Alonso had worn, the handle glimmering savagely in the candlelight.

“What did you say?” Matthias asked, lifting his eyes.

The boy smiled, and then leaned down so his face was inches away. Nose to nose the boy hissed heavily and slowly, “I said you were a fool.”

Matthias stared back at him, his eyes glaring but calm. Then suddenly, from nowhere, came a voice.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Gerard.” Both boys turned to look. Standing in the doorway of the mustering hall was the owner of the thickly accented voice that had spoken. Alonso, stood next to Mr Hardy, who was looking faintly amused. Alonso himself, however, seemed most sombre.

“He’s quick. Quicker than you I dare say. I wouldn’t agitate him. He’s confused and he is probably slightly frightened; which makes him dangerous. I would say he could take your blade and strike you down before you could blink.”

Gerard stepped back from Matthias, looking suddenly alarmed. But just as quickly he regained his composure and gave a snort of distaste.

“Oh, you can scoff away, but I assure you he speaks the truth.” Mr Hardy’s eloquent voice continued. “In fact, Matthias, I’m sure we’d all love to see just how quick you are.”

Blood rushed through Matthias and he felt a pulse of fear and excitement surge though his arms and legs. His eyes returned to Gerard’s. There was the merest hint of uncertainty in them now and Matthias stared intently whilst calculating the distance of the knife from the corner of his own eye.

“He doesn’t look quick to me,” said Gerard.

Matthias felt like he was going to burst. He wanted to grab the knife and teach the boy a lesson. Something inside of him told him to wait. This was not right, not with all these people watching. An inner battle raged within as he resisted the temptation not to attack.

But then, and it all happened so quickly, he found himself holding the knife to the boy’s throat. Had he just grabbed it whilst the lad struggled to step back? Had he pulled it up with one swift motion? Was it now held tightly against Gerard’s skin, a small droplet of blood making its way along the edge of the blade to the hilt?

Gerard’s mouth was open and his face was white. He had barely enough time to take a breath and was clearly stunned by Matthias’s speed and reflexes. He looked Matthias dead in the eye before his own eyes started to frantically search the room, looking for help or a way out of the situation. There was none.

All the children sat in silence, watching. Mr Hardy’s wry smirk had gone, only leaving traces of his bemusement. All the while next to him Alonso looked on, the single eye taking in every minute detail of the scene.

“Who’s the fool now?” Matthias asked, through gritted teeth.

Gerard looked back with horror. “Who are you?”

“No one to be trifled with,” said Matthias, in a soft whisper. “You had best remember that.”

“That’s enough now, Matthias,” said Alonso. The words were spoken softly, but the voice commanded respect. He slipped the knife away from Gerard’s neck, wiped the blood on his sleeve and then offered it back, handle first.

“Now,” continued Alonso, “I think you had best come with Mr Hardy and me so we can have a talk and explain a little bit about where you are.”

Matthias turned and walked toward the door. All the children sat, open mouthed, watching him as he left; some shuffled awkwardly in their seats as he walked past. Harry put down his book with a smirk whilst Sophie regarded him with fascination. She smiled her dazzling smile and caught his eye as he left to follow Alonso and Hardy.