The Beacon: Casus Belli (4)
Episode 22: "The Royal Guard"
Under the viewing stand at the edge of the palace’s compact parade ground, the Palace Guard stood in ranks, chins held high, eyes fixed forward. Attired in their dress uniforms, their captains—Adon included—saluted as King Lorens passed before them. For the first time, he was accompanied by his firstborn, Carlonne. The dark-haired boy, twelve years old and eager to begin his hereditary duties, unsuccessfully fought to mimic his father’s regal mien. A silly grin slipped onto his face whenever he let down his guard.
He did not care that he wore a private’s uniform: black knee-high riding boots, gray pants with a Margonni purple stripe on each outside seam, white shirt, and gray jacket with purple piping and standing collar. It was a uniform, the first he had ever donned. When he was invested as Crown Prince, he would be given a black officer’s uniform and appointed a lieutenant, but that ceremony remained at least a year away. Today’s activities marked the official start of his royal duties, and he would make the best of them.
Earlier, he and his father had breakfasted with the guards in their barracks. Captain Baladan, the Palace Guard’s commander, had assigned him to the First Platoon and introduced him to its lieutenant, sergeant, and corporals. He explained that as a prince of the realm, Carlonne was not expected to work a full schedule as a member of the Palace Guard, but he would work a shift once each week, shadowing a guardsman or an officer to learn its protocols. Weapons training and guard shifts would come later.
Once he had reviewed the troops, Lorens turned smartly around to return to the central platoon, where the captains stood at attention. Carlonne did his best to imitate him. On the way, he took a quick look toward the viewing stand and fought down the urge to wave at his mother, Queen Elia, and his younger brother, Mardons, two years his junior. Elia beamed proudly at him, and Mardons waved enthusiastically, nearly provoking an involuntary return wave. The elder prince forced his arms to remain by his side.
Arriving in front of the captains, they were saluted again, and the king and Carlonne returned it. Lorens ordered them to stand at ease while he addressed them. At his side, his son shifted to spread his feet and place his left hand behind his back as the other guards before him.
“Officers and guardsmen!” Lorens said in his customarily booming voice, both hands clasped behind him. He smiled. “Today, we add another member to your corps: my firstborn son, Prince Carlonne!”
The guards answered, “Yes, lord!”
“Until he wears the crown, he is your brother in arms, not your future king! When my son is on duty with you, he is Private Carlonne, and you will instruct him in every necessary protocol, procedure, and practice of the Palace Guard as you were instructed when you joined. When he is on duty, you are to give him no special favors for his royal rank. If I hear of any of you showing him favoritism, I will personally take action to address it. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, lord!”
“A prince—certainly, an eventual Crown Prince—of the House of Ankara cannot and will not be coddled. If he is to command the respect of the nation’s warriors, he must be as strong and hardened by toil and training as any of them, a tradition our first king set as a precedent two centuries ago. As my grandfather, Alfons the Wise, said, ‘The kings of Margonne rule best after they have learned to serve the people as one of them.’ So, we kings of the House of Ankara serve in our youth so we may serve the people of Margonne when we ascend its throne. Do you agree?”
“Yes, lord!”
Lorens turned to face the platoon to his left. “This morning, Private Carlonne will accompany the First Platoon to the equestrian park outside the city. He knows how to ride well enough, but I wish you, gentlemen of the First, to instruct him in riding in formation. If you do your job well, he will avoid walking tomorrow. What say you?”
“Yes, lord!” But this time, their response contained scattered laughter.
The king grinned. “That’s the spirit! Our review today continues a long and honorable relationship! Captain, instruct the Guard!”
Captain Baladan saluted and pivoted with precision to face his troops. “First Platoon!” he shouted. “In a quarter-hour, you will return to this spot with your mounts. Second and Third Platoons! You will return to your assigned duties. Dismissed!”
Once the king, prince, and the Guard’s officers cleared the field, the Second Platoon’s lieutenant ordered his guardsmen to march across to the palace to relieve the absent Fourth Platoon standing at their posts. The First and Third Platoon’s lieutenants did likewise, leading them to the barracks and their attached stables. Only after they were gone did Carlonne notice a groom had brought his horse, Dart, to the field from the palace stable.
The prince vaulted up the steps of the review stand, where his mother embraced him, and his brother jumped up and down, shouting his name. “You did so well!” the queen said warmly, taking his shoulders to look at him. “And look at that uniform! You look so dashing!”
Carlonne blushed. “I’m only a private, Mother,” he said, eyes downcast. “The collar won’t have pips until next year sometime.”
“You’ll look even more dashing then!” Elia said, not to be dissuaded. “You looked quite like your father as you reviewed the Guard! You are his spitting image, as they say!” She winked. “The girls will think you a handsome man!”
“Girls!” her older son said, rolling his eyes. “What do they have to do with anything? Today, I get to ride Dart with the Guard! Now, that’s fun!”
“Well, my boy,” she said, her blue eyes twinkling, “you may change your mind about that later. But truly, there’s no need to think about it today. Ride well, Carlonne! Show them your skills and learn their ways—but with humility, mind you.”
“Yes, Mother,” Carlonne said seriously. “I will make you proud!”
She blessed him with a broad smile, squeezing his shoulder before hugging him tightly to her breast.
“Mother!” he gasped after a moment.
She let him go, her hand lingering on his reddened cheek. “Allow your mother her affection, my dear. Call it your last hug as a boy. Go now and be a man!”
He smiled and ran down the steps to his horse. A moment later, his father excused himself from the captains to speak with his son. The king stood silent a moment, caressing Dart’s neck. “Carl,” he said, using the more affectionate name to set the boy at ease, “make us proud! But no showing off! Listen to your officers and the men! You know nothing. You are there to learn, so you will be humble, right, son?”
“Yes, Father,” he said with a straight back and eyes on the king’s face.
“Good. I know you will.” Lorens smiled and patted his son’s leg. “Don’t let Dart get too excited, all right? He comes by his name honestly.”
That made him grin. “Yes, sir!” he said. “Don’t worry, Father. Dart’s a good boy. He listens to me!”
His father chuckled and backed away. “Some of the men are returning to the field. Find the sergeant and ask him to show you your place in the line. “Happy riding, Private Carlonne!”
“Yes, lord!” the boy said like a proper guardsman, saluting. He gently tapped Dart with his heels and joined his new platoon.
The First Platoon’s mounted guardsmen followed their lieutenant and sergeant two abreast down the Royal Road to the East Road leading to Palisade’s East Gate. The prince rode four rows behind in the middle of the line, with Corporal Wilfrid, a muscular veteran of twenty years, trotting his feisty gray mare beside him. The dozens of hooves hitting the cobblestones announced their coming a hundred yards away, and the street cleared quickly to let them pass.
Taking his task seriously, Corporal Wilfrid kept up a steady stream of instruction, teaching the prince the rudimentary hand signs the lieutenant might use as they rode. A few minutes later, he would quiz the new private, occasionally adding a false sign or an advanced one he had not taught him to see if the boy could figure it out. By the time they reached the expansive square behind the East Gate, Carlonne knew most of the basic silent commands a commanding officer might give.
It was nearing noon, and the square teemed with people. Standing in his stirrups, the platoon’s sergeant blew a few shrill notes on a whistle to clear a path for them through the milling mass of merchants, workers, shoppers, and visitors anticipating the lunch hour. Ahead, a line of travelers snaked from the gate’s mouth, stalled by some confusion or congestion from the influx of people entering the city.
Noticing the mounted Palace Guard troops approaching, the gate sergeant shouted commands in a stentorian voice. A moment later, guards spilled out of the right-hand tower, ten-foot pikes at the ready to hold the exiting line back. Others hustled into the tunnel to stop the flow from the other side.
Several toughs in the line shouted obscenities, complaining that the horsemen should wait their turn. The gate sergeant strode over, shouting, “Shut your gobs, you sons of Degan! The Palace Guard always goes to the head of the line!” He called a pikeman over to watch the potential troublemakers. Grumbling, they stared malevolently at the gate guard, who showed no sign that he noticed.
The platoon slowed to a plodding walk, and the lieutenant waved his arm in a long arc over his head. Corporal Wilfrid asked the prince what it meant. Carlonne immediately answered, “Alert!” to which he received a nod and a proud smile.
“It instructs us to be careful and sweep the area for danger,” the corporal explained. “The lieutenant has determined that, given a push, the situation could spin out of control. If it goes sideways, stay with me! Do not dismount! Your saddle is the safest place in a surging crowd.”
With the way cleared, the gate sergeant bellowed and waved them on, and the platoon’s lieutenant signaled his troops forward. The horses’ pace quickened. As the lieutenant and sergeant entered the gateway, they noted a rising clamor from the far side. Screams and bawls and men shouting commands and curses echoed in the confines of the forty-foot tunnel.
By the time the lieutenant roared for a halt, more than half the platoon had entered the dim tunnel. The young officer frantically called for them to back out, but the din prevented them from hearing him, and the shadows obscured his hand signal. In the gloom, no one noticed the wavelike emanation rolling from the north through the city wall and gate into the crowded square beyond.
Behind its seemingly harmless leading edge, pandemonium erupted. Led by an impatient drover and more than a half-dozen steers on their way to a butcher, a long line of people eager to enter Palisade surged into the gateway. With his whip repeatedly cracking over the animals’ backs, the drover cursed them for their slowness and urged them to run. Soon, they were bolting, crashing into the horses, which neighed nervously and then screamed and reared, bucking and twisting, with many throwing their riders and bolting toward the light at either end of the tunnel.
At first, the prince, trotting on the right, was safe against the wall. Remembering his father’s counsel to control Dart, he stopped him, calling out to him, patting his neck, and gripping the reins to keep him still. Then, the leading cattle raced by the left file, peeling a few guardsmen away. Corporal Wilfrid’s horse turned when a cow’s shoulder butted his flank, exposing Carlonne to the next steers, one of which bore long horns. Dart took the tip of a horn in his chest, and screaming and rearing, he threw the prince against the wall. Still shrieking, he backed onto the boy with his rear hooves and sprinted heedlessly away, following the cattle. The rest of the small herd and a few horses beat wildly through the tunnel into the square, creating additional havoc inside the gate.
The people there swiftly succumbed to the emanation’s influence. Immediately, dozens of fights broke out, beginning with the toughs standing in line. They attacked the guards, who fought back with their pikes, spilling blood with every thrust. The gate sergeant fell under the weight of a dozen ruffians. A few irritated wagoneers lashed their teams forward, resulting in several deaths.
Among the stalls, customers looted goods by the armful, and racing fires ignited as cooking braziers toppled in the mayhem. Overcome by fear, the maddened crowd fled the square by every available street and alley, trampling women and children, breaking windows, and scrambling into the surrounding shops and homes. A couple of people leaped into the central fountain, only to drown somehow in the knee-high water.
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The bubble of evil, just a quarter-mile wide, fortunately merely grazed Palisade’s easternmost sector, passing quickly into the southern plain. Even so, it left an appalling trail of death and devastation. Within minutes, the palace received word of the chaos at the gate, and the king immediately dispatched the Palace Guard to restore order and provide aid. He commanded a company of Margonni soldiers to join them as soon as possible. With his orders issued, he and Adon raced their mounts recklessly toward the smoking square.
Arriving on the heels of the Palace Guard, Lorens witnessed the survivors wandering aimlessly, their faces displaying utter disbelief at the carnage. The guilty, hastily scattering at the influx of guardsmen, stumbled on bodies and debris and slipped on blood-smeared cobbles. Doors cautiously opened on the square’s edges, and frightened citizens peered about wide-eyed. Several people wailed disconsolately over the bodies of loved ones.
The king and Adon picked their way carefully through the square. Reaching the fountain, Lorens gasped, crying, “No, no, no, no!” He rushed toward a young stallion quivering in shock a few yards away, blood still welling from a deep chest wound. “It’s Dart, Adon! Where’s Carlonne? God in heaven, where’s my son?”
A grim Captain Baladan rode over as the king looked frantically around for any sign of Carlonne. “Sire, please come to the gate,” he said. “It appears the First Platoon was in the tunnel when the mayhem began. Your son is there.”
Lorens knew from the captain’s voice that nothing good awaited him in the gateway. Sliding from the saddle just outside the tunnel, he strode up to the ring of guardsmen watching over a small figure huddled beside the wall. With downcast eyes, they parted to let their king through.
But for his gray pallor, Carlonne appeared to be sleeping. Choking back a cry, Lorens fell to his knees and cradled his firstborn son’s body in his arms, dissolving into unrestrained sobs. Kneeling beside him, Adon held the king, grieving with him. They remained like this for several minutes until the king took a shuddering breath and shrugged his great-uncle off. He stood, clutching his son’s broken body to his chest.
He turned a flinty glare upon Adon. “Uncle, we will now wage unrelenting war.”
A note:
The gate sergeant called the toughs in line “sons of Degan.” Degan is the Angevan god of hatred, deceit, and wickedness. Perhaps the sergeant had recently emigrated from Angeva, for very few Margonni worshipped the Angevan pantheon. Margonne the Strong had been raised to worship in the Angevan manner, but his association with Qadira convinced him that it was a false religion. He and Qadira worshipped the Creator God the Prophetesses taught. Later, however, Margonne’s queen, Carinéa, princess of Aertella, introduced her nation’s worship of the Shepherd to the new kingdom, and most of its people soon followed her practice.
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This is so very sad. You literally made me cry.
No!!! How tragic for Lorens and Elia!