The Chosen Prince (19 page)

“‘Uncle,' he said, when there was no one around to
hear, ‘you have become an impediment to me, so I am sending you away. Out of respect for the memory of my late father, I'll spare your reputation. I'll come up with some sort of story to explain your disappearance. No one needs to know that you've been banished. Now you'd better get packing. You sail at first light.'

“And that was it. I never saw him again until today.”

“Yet you knew him by sight?”

“He hasn't changed that much. He looks, I'm sorry to say, very like my brother.

“So. I collected a few things in haste and at dawn the following morning, Aria and I—you were hardly six months old at the time—went on board the ship. It was a fat, broad merchantman with a single mast, old and good for nothing but scrap. And no one would tell me where we were bound. I should have been suspicious; I'm embarrassed now to think how trusting I still was.

“We sailed into the deep waters off the southern coast. When we were two days out, a smaller vessel joined us, at which point our entire crew deserted the merchantman, leaving us alone on board. Understand, one man cannot possibly manage such a ship alone; it would take a crew of eight at least. But that was the point, you see; we were meant to die, to drift helplessly with the currents till we were capsized in a storm
or perished from hunger and thirst. And—I'm only guessing here—I expect Pyratos claimed the ship was lost at sea:
an unfortunate accident, nobody's fault, such a tragedy!
”

“But we didn't die,” Aria says.

“No. And you will notice a striking similarity between Teo's story and the one I am about to tell you: for we were saved, just as he was, by the goddess Athene.

“While Aria slept in the cabin below, I went back up on deck. A storm was brewing, black clouds building on the horizon, and already the wind was up and gusting hard.”

“Like the storm we saw today?”

“Very much the same. The ship tossed wildly. Waves crashed over the railing. I was terrified, as you can imagine. But I turned to Athene, who had always favored me and guided me with her great wisdom. I knelt on that rolling deck and raised my arms to the skies and sang out every song of praise I knew.

“As I did so, I saw a great, dense bank of fog rising up out of the sea. But it wasn't formless, as fog usually is. It had a distinct shape. And the longer I stared, the more the fogbank took the appearance of land. I saw the green of trees, the edge of a single mountain—unquestionably, an island.

“And then the ship turned very neatly, quite of its own accord, and headed directly for the only safe harbor. We ran right up onto the beach, as Pyratos' ship did today. I carried Aria down a rope ladder to safety. Then I went back to unload the things I'd assembled for the voyage. When I had finished and had found a place of shelter—our cunning little cave house, ready and waiting—I stood where we were today, looking down at the beach. A colossal wave came rolling in and devoured the ship entire.

“Now let me tell you this, my dearest children. Since you have never known—or in Teo's case, can't remember—any other home but this, you can't truly appreciate what a blessed place it is. In the world beyond, I assure you, trees don't lean down and offer their fruit to you; nor do springs rise up when you are thirsty; the grass is not so lush and green; the wind doesn't sing pleasant harmonies. Our little place of refuge is perfect because the goddess made it so; and she made it especially for us.”

He pauses and looks first at one and then the other, with such intensity that he seems to expect them to respond in some particular way. It's as though there's a piece missing out of his story, an error or contradiction, and he's waiting for them to find it.

They do not disappoint him.

“So Pyratos thinks you're dead,” Aria begins, eyes half closed, brows furrowed in deep concentration. “And he probably lied about what happened—well, he would, wouldn't he? So if he finds out that you're still alive and right here on the island, he'll be afraid you'll tell about the terrible thing he did. Are kings allowed to do murder?”

“No. Ferra has laws.”

“Then since he tried to kill you once, he might try again, if only to keep his secret safe.”

“That's correct.”

“And the goddess is hiding us so that won't happen.”

“Wait,” Teo says. “That doesn't make sense.”

Claudio nods. Teo has found the flaw.

“We saw that ship come in. It was exactly the same as what you just described, except that it hasn't been washed away. And it's like my little boat, too. All three were brought here safely, with no lives lost, and in a way that is contrary to nature.”

“And?”

“The goddess brought you and Aria here because she is merciful, because you were innocent and someone had put you in danger; she even created this island for you.”

“And then,” Aria picks up the thread, “when Teo was in danger, she brought him here too, so we could
all be safe and happy together. So why would she do the same for Pyratos? He isn't innocent. He doesn't deserve her mercy. And in bringing him here, she is working against her original kind intentions, putting us in danger all over again.”

“That is indeed the question. You have stated it perfectly.”

“But what's the answer?”

“Only the goddess knows. We must trust she has her reasons.”

THERE ARE TWO CAMPS
,
one large and one small.

The main encampment is on the high ground just above the beach. Pyratos has ordered a stand of saplings cut down to make room for his men and all their equipment: tents, trunks, casks, boxes, a table and benches, cooking equipment, and several amphorae of wine. What was once a charming little meadow, surrounded by trees and dotted with tiny bell-shaped flowers, is now a flattened plain of matted grass, littered with a jumble of gear.

Some distance away from the main camp is a natural clearing in a grove of ancient broad-leafed trees. Here Pyratos has placed his prison camp. It's a simple, uncluttered affair: just six guards with minimal equipment, a man chained to the trunk of a tree, and the
man's three attendants, who stay near him.

The tree to which the prisoner is tethered stands at the edge of the clearing, a great old oak, probably six feet in diameter. Its girth offers a bit of privacy, since he and his men have settled themselves on the side that looks away from the camp and into the forest. But unfortunately, it also robs the prisoner of freedom to roam, because the chain to which the manacles are attached is only so long, and most of that length is taken up in encircling the tree.

The guards, a remarkably good-natured bunch, agreed that this was a problem. But it was the only chain they had, meant for use in a ship's cabin, not wrapped around a big tree. They offered to remove one of the iron cuffs if that would help.

The prisoner's physician said this would be a marked improvement. A blanket would also be welcome. The guards were happy to comply.

It's dark now, their first night on the island. The guards have gathered around a little brush fire. They talk in low voices while the prisoner and his men, out of sight behind the tree, listen intently to their conversation.

“We're stuck here, that's the gist of it.”

“Nay, I think not. Soon as the fleet reaches port, they'll send out a ship.”

“And how will they find us?”

“They'll remember where we parted in the storm; they'll know where to look.”

“In this fog?”

“It'll lift. They'll send a ship, and they will find us.”

“Would
you
?” This from another man, who hasn't spoken before.

“Would I what?”

The speaker's voice drops, almost to a whisper. “Send a ship to find Pyratos and bring him back to Ferra?”

This comment is greeted with gasps of surprise and soft, dark laughter.

“Well, you've got a point there. If I were
himself
”—he leans on the word for emphasis, as if to say,
you all know who I mean, but I won't speak his name
—“I wouldn't sleep so easy at night. Especially now that we're off here in the wilderness, where if something were to happen, no one would be the wiser.”

“Truly—you think there are those among us who would go that far?”

“I do. I've heard their grumbling and their secret—”

“Shhh! What was that?”

“I didn't hear anything.”

“A twig snapped, something like that.”

“Ooooooh—perhaps there be
monsters
here.”

The others laugh.

“Or a spy, maybe.”

They fall silent at that. They've been dangerously indiscreet, trusting in the distance between the two camps.

One of the prisoner's men now emerges from the darkness and approaches the campfire and the guards. “Ho, Peles,” one of the men says. “We thought you were asleep, so quiet you were over there.”

“Near enough,” Peles says. “Soon.”

“So where might you be going this time of night?”

“To relieve myself.”

“There's plenty of trees need watering over where you came from.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but that's where we sleep.”

“I didn't know the peasants of Arcos were so particular.”

“Would you rather I do it here, then, beside your campfire?”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, let the fellow go do his business.”

As there is no further discussion on the matter, Peles steps into the privacy of the forest and the men return to their talk. But now they are more careful what they say.

“They'll be searching the island tomorrow, that's what I heard.”

“Do you suppose they'll find any villages here? It seems such a strange little out-of-the-way place. It's not on any map, the captain said.”

“I doubt anyone lives here at all. If they did, it wouldn't seem so empty. There'd be cottages and fields, boats in the harbor, that sort of thing.”

“Makes sense. Who's first watch tonight?”

“Janos,” says the officer, “then Stefano.”

The men are exhausted, as anyone would be who'd departed early from the borderlands, sailed for hours, looked death in the eye through a terrible storm, been cast ashore on an island, then spent still more hours unloading the ship, setting up a prison camp, and making a fire—all before having their first bite to eat since breaking their fast that morning. They shuffle over to the neat pile at the edge of the clearing and gather up blankets and roll their cloaks to rest their heads upon. Then they return to the warmth and cheer of the fire and arrange themselves to sleep on the grass.

Janos sits nearby, leaning against a tree. He knows it isn't a good place for keeping a proper watch. It's too far from the prisoner, and the light from the fire makes it hard to see into the darkness beyond. But he doesn't like to sit alone in this strange place in the gloom of night; he prefers to stay close to the others.

And besides, this prisoner isn't likely to run away,
even if he weren't chained to a tree; and his attendants are too loyal to leave him. So keeping watch is really just a formality. And should Janos doze off—which of course he'll try very hard not to do—no harm done.

Peles saunters out of the forest, calm and cheerful as always.

“Sleep well,” he says to the guards.

“You, too.”

He crosses the clearing and returns to his place beside the king of Arcos. He lies on his side, his head propped up with one hand, and speaks softly into his master's ear.

“It was a lad, sixteen or seventeen, I'd say.”

“And?”

“He may be inclined to rescue you.”

“Does he speak our language?”

“Aye—and that's strange, now that you mention it.”

“How many others are there?”

“‘Not many.' That's all he would say.”

“Anything else?”

“He wants to meet with you in person. I hope you'll forgive me, Alexos—I said he might, but he should wait an hour or two until the guards are well asleep. I told him to come around to this side of the clearing. Was that a mistake?”

“No, you did right. I take it you trusted this fellow, then?”

“Trusted, yes. Absolutely. As to whether he has the cunning and the skill to pull off a rescue, that's another matter altogether. He seemed—how can I say it?—very young, very innocent. Soft, like—”

“Shhh. Lie down, Peles. Feign sleep.”

In the silence that follows they hear the voices of men approaching from the other camp. The guards hear them too, and they have picked out one familiar voice from all the others. They jump to their feet and do their best to look alert and respectful.

“I thought you were going to build a cage,” Pyratos says.

“Well, Your Majesty,” says the officer, “we did consider that, but there weren't materials for building one and we felt the prisoner ought to be constrained right away. So we've chained him to that tree over there.”

“Let's have a look. Bring the lamp, will you?”

Pyratos and his men cross the clearing. Peles, Leander, and Suliman rise as he approaches; Alexos, having no choice in the matter, stays where he is. Wordlessly Pyratos studies the chain. He jerks at the free end, hard; Alexos' wrist comes with it. Pyratos studies the iron cuff, as dispassionately as if it weren't attached to a body at all.

“Only one manacle?” he shouts to the guards. “You've released this other one? Or did he manage to get it off himself?”

The officer, who has been standing back, now joins the group. “Oh, no, Your Majesty. He could not possibly have opened it. We released it because he is quite secure with the single cuff, and it enabled him to lie down and attend to personal matters—eating, you know, that sort of thing.”