The Boy and The Man

Chapter 1

T'was a fine day in a fine year in the fine kingdom. The river was flowing, the birds were chirping, and the Gods were smiling upon the land. The sun shone brightly and the white clouds formed funny shapes beneath her. A fine day indeed, as were all days in the kingdom. What made this ordinarily fine day into the seed of an eternal change in the kingdom's history began in the little red house to the south of the woods.

There, in the little red house, a boy whom we shall call The Boy' was preparing to set out on a journey across the woods. The reason he was doing so was because it was his mother's wish, and The Boy, having good manners and a fair heart, always complied with his mother's wishes. She was a small lady with a shrill voice and many wishes, and a more talkative woman than she couldn't be found in that side of the woods. We may hereby refer to her simply as The Boy's Mother'. Her current wish of him, her only child and the thing she treasured above all else in the world, was to deliver a bag of tools and a homemade meal to her husband, The Boy's Father. You see, The Boy's Father was a carpenter who served many people to the north of the woods. The people there were quite wealthy, and often in possession of fine woodworks; fine woodworking, on the other hand, was in short supply and so a skilled carpenter was always in high demand. The Boy's Father was one of the finest in the whole kingdom, and he made the journey through the woods every day. He would leave his home at dawn to cross to the north and return at dusk with an aching back and weary legs, but with a reveling heart and a heightened spirit. He generally led a busy, productive, strenuous, content life and was grateful for every moment of it.

On the day in question, hastening to make an early appearance at the abode of a wealthy customer whose lavish home was to host his daughter's betrothal party, The Boy's Father had departed from two of his morning habits. The first was to fill his stomach with digestible matter and his body with nutrition before putting it to work, and the second was to carry his special bag of light tools that he never left at a work sight overnight out of fear for theft. Theft wasn't a common occurrence in the kingdom due to the severe punishments, but The Boy's Father never left his most important and personal tools to the hands of chance. Having neglected his morning routine, his precision would be impaired and his spirits dampened. The Boy's Mother knew this, and she wouldn't stand for it. It was the boy's job to fix the damage by making the delivery as fast as possible.

"Run along the river", she instructed as she always did when The Boy or his father were about to cross the forest. "When you get tired, walk. Then when your breath is back, run again. Be swift for the sake of your father."

So the boy took off at a trot, and accelerated when he reached the bank of the river that sliced through the forest from south to north. He ran as fast as he could until he was out of air, then slowed back to a trot, then ran again when his legs and lungs were equal to the challenge. There was no cover from the sun along the riverbank, but it was still morning and the heat was tolerable. He ran faster than the flow of the river, and when the forest was behind him his legs were burning, but he felt a sense of great satisfaction. He asked around for the domicile of his father's client and was pointed in the right direction. He didn't make a single wrong turn though the way was quite winding. He managed to complete the delivery in due time, and was thanked profusely by his father.

"You are a wonderful son, and I am lucky to have you", his father said. "Tell your mother I said so; she shall be ever so proud! Be careful on your way back, my boy; be sure to keep along the river."

"Yes, father", The Boy said. He made his way back through the forest with a light heart and spring-like legs. He whistled first, then he hummed a jolly tune, but there was one thing that bothered him. The sun was high in a cloudless sky, and she seemed to be more excited than usual. She hung right above him as he marched along the river. He ran almost as fast as before, but couldn't outrun her. She was extremely displeased by it, and he felt much hotter after that. There was no way for him to escape her, and she made him suffer very much. Then, suddenly, a brilliant thought occurred to him. He always spoke to himself when he was deep in thought, and here is what the birds in the trees heard:

"I've just crossed almost the entire forest running. I'm sure that nobody has ever done it faster! And father was so pleased with me- I did a wonderful thing. And the sun- she is so stubborn! Why is she so stubborn? What will happen if I take just a few steps that way into the shade and continue through there? Nothing will happen! I'm a great boy, and I'm a great runner."

And so he decided, against the instructions of his mother and then his father, to move away from the river under the canopy of the trees. "Let's see you now!" He exclaimed daringly to the sun, which tried in vain to penetrate the canopy and heat him up again.

Walking between the trees, he was even gayer than before. Now there weren't even the rays of the sun to dampen his festivity. He zigzagged proudly from tree to tree, thinking how silly it was that his parents had warned him not to leave the riverside. There was nothing dangerous about it. Even a regular boy could go through the woods without any cause for concern, so certainly a wonderful boy like him! The air under the trees was cool and fresh, and there were fascinating sounds and smells all around. You might imagine that a forest is all green, and in fact it was a beautiful sea of green. But if you look deep down under the surface of the sea you will see a burst of different colors and life forms, and the forest was no different. Look at the woods from inside the forest and you will realize that it stores inside it an endless diversity of colors. They weren't always easy to spot but they were there. Flowers, fruits, vines, birds, little rodents and more- they all live in the woods, and they each had their own shape and color. This is what The Boy was seeing, and he was absolutely delighted.

He was perhaps half way home when he decided he wanted a walking stick. Sometimes young boys act for no particular reason, and this was just one of those cases. He didn't need the stick- he wasn't an old man, but he had an urge to get one. So he broke off a long branch from one of the trees and started using it as a walking stick.

He gained more confidence with his new walking stick, so he moved farther into the forest and away from the river. He was now so deep in the woods that he couldn't see the river anymore but only hear the rustling of the current. He was king of the forest! He wondered if ever there had been a boy brave enough to go so deep into the green sea, and if there was anything at all in the forest that could strike fear in his courageous heart.

Just then, he noticed in the corner of his eye a kind of unusual movement rather near the ground. He squinted and made a few curious steps toward the source of the movement, holding his stick forward. His heart was beating fast, and he enjoyed the tension and the excitement inside him. He stopped and stared hard at the creature that now froze as well.

"A cat?" He muttered to himself. That's what it looked like: just an oversize cat wandering through the woods. But what was a cat doing in the forest? Cats belonged in the homes of the people, or maybe sometimes on the street when they got away. Maybe this one was just lost, and he could take it back home-

He took one step too close, and suddenly realized that whatever he was looking at wasn't a cat at all! It had the outlines of a cat, but it was much, much larger than any cat he'd ever seen. It'd been crouching before, following a trail or sniffing the ground or searching for a suitable resting place, but now that The Boy was close, its attention was focused on him without distraction. It didn't curl its back like a threatened cat, but straightened itself like an arrow aimed directly at The Boy. It proceeded to make small, slow, calculated steps toward him, and soon cleared a bush that had been standing between them so that it was now in plain sight. The Boy's jaw dropped and his blue eyes opened to twice their normal size. This was no cat! Now he was sure of it. If ever a cat had looked so ferocious, nobody would ever seek the company of a cat again. It was taller than the height of his waist, had teeth like long razors, even sharper claws, and black spots on brownish yellow fur.

"You must be a leopard", he muttered with horror, though he'd never seen one before. Leopards were the most dangerous creatures in the forest, and it was said they could eat an entire person in just one sitting! The Boy was paralyzed with fear, and his enthusiasm from before vanished completely. The leopard looked angry, and if not angry then hungry. And in either case he was in big, big trouble.

'What am I going to do?' He thought. The leopard was maybe twenty steps away from him, and soon it would be close enough to pounce. He couldn't turn and run, because everyone knows that a leopard is much faster than a person. He couldn't fight, because there was nothing he could do against those deadly teeth and claws.

'Maybe if I'm nice to him…', he thought. So he tried smiling to the leopard and speaking softly to it, but it kept closing the distance with the same menacing steps.

"You are a true savage", he muttered in a shaky voice of a boy who is terrified beyond his wits. Oh, how he regretted now having strayed from the river! But this was no time for regrets, since these could be the final seconds of his life. And regret was such a foul thing- he quickly snapped out of it. If only he had some weapon with which to fight back…

The stick! He was suddenly greatly reanimated. The stick was a poor weapon indeed, and the leopard was still the stronger of the opponents, but at least it gave him hope. A long time ago people used to live in the woods, and surely they would come across a leopard every now and then. And they didn't have guns or swords or other advanced weapons- so how would they fight? With sticks!

He waved the stick violently in front of him, hoping that the leopard would be more impressed by it than he was. The stick swooshed through the air, but the leopard didn't seem to care. Its narrow, intense eyes were locked on The Boy's like a hypnotist.

'He can see the fear in my eyes', The Boy thought. So he changed his expression and stared at the leopard as if it were a little boy that he could easily overpower. But even this didn't deter the stubborn cat, and it was preparing to strike. Now, though, the boy was in combat mode and he was ready to fight back.

The leopard sprung with fantastic athleticism, much fast and higher than The Boy had expected. But The Boy responded with a surprise strike of the stick to the side of the leopard's open jaw. It was a mistaken strike, as the boy had aimed to put the stick into the leopard's mouth to occupy the ferocious incisors, but a very effective one. It threw the leopard out of balance, and it collapsed to the side and was dragged on the dirt. The Boy was thrilled by his success, and turned to face the leopard and prepare to deliver another blow. The leopard, too, still had wind blowing in its sails, and it nimbly got back to its feet and homed in on its target again. It flied like a taut spring again, but this time The Boy's counterstrike was even stronger, and the savage cat lost again.

"Surrender, leopard!" The Boy exclaimed triumphantly. "You can't beat me!" There was no more fear in his voice because he didn't know that he'd been fortunate the first two times, and the next time he might die. Fortunately, the leopard didn't know it as well, and it retreated with great frustration.

Again The Boy skipped through the woods, his joy now even greater than before. He wasn't only a wonderful son, but the jungle's bravest warrior!

Chapter 2

 

"Mother! Mother! You won't believe what happened", he exclaimed when his mother came out of the house to meet him.

"I see you have made the delivery. Thank you, my darling! What a treasure you are to your father and me", she said.

"But I didn't just deliver it!" He bellowed excitedly. "I ran faster than anyone ever has, and father was so proud of me! He said you would be to. And then on the way back- you won't believe this, mother." His hands were flailing in the air without demonstrating anything in particular. They simply couldn't be controlled.

"What? What happened on the way back?" His mother asked with a great deal of concern. But he was now already out of danger, so what she was concerned for only a mother could understand. The Boy was so excited that he could barely speak now. There was a spark in his eyes as though he was now seeing the sun set for the first time.

"I met a leopard", he said, and the words chose to come out in a whisper. "And it tried to-"

"You what?" His mother shrieked. "Dear Lord, how could this-"

"Mother, please! Hear me out", The Boy insisted. "And we looked at each other, and I was scared at first, and then it tried to attack me. Everything around us was quiet; it was just the two of us. There was nowhere to run- its legs were so fast." The look of horror on his mother's face only urged him on:

"You wouldn't believe it, mother! It was this high, with claws this long and teeth double the size, all sharp like knives." To indicate the leopard's height he marked his own chest, which was significantly higher than the real one. To show the length of the claws he put both his index fingers at a distance twice the real length. It was a minor embellishment, and he immediately regretted he hadn't shown larger sizes.

"It was growling and baring its teeth; you know, like dogs do to each other. Then it jumped at me, and I know it was going to bite my head off. I just know it!"

At this point his mom was almost at the point of fainting and The Boy was raving, throwing his hands dramatically to illustrate the story. Even his voice was fluctuating rapidly, and his eyebrows were dancing on his face.

"Its massive jaws were already open and ready to swallow me. I think its mouth was larger than my whole head! Not even father- not even a soldier from the Guard could fight such a savage thing! But then I took my stick- I'd just found a stick on one of the trees- and I went like this-" he made a giant arch motion with his right arm that was holding an invisible stick- "and hit it right on the head. Bam! The poor thing crashed on the ground. I think I hit it so hard that I almost broke the stick, mother!"

"Oh, thank God!" His Mother yelped.

"Wait! It wasn't over just yet. I tell you, mother, this leopard was no ordinary cat. It was a monster! After hitting the ground it got right back on its legs and went for round two. But this time I wasn't scared, even though it was even fiercer than the first time. It was angry. And the jaws- they somehow opened even wider! I can almost swear that the claws were longer too. But I didn't blink, mother, and when it came close enough I went like this-" he thrust the stick forward like a sword- "and hit it again. And you should've seen the great animal, mother! It was so desperate- it looked like a little kitten that you just want to go and pet. I felt sad for having struck it so forcefully. Well, mother, what do you think?"

"I can't believe you left the river, young man! Never do it again, do you hear me?" She bellowed, and she slapped her boy for his disobedience. But then she hugged him so tightly that she stopped the blood flowing in his veins and exclaimed: "My boy is a hero! A hero, I tell you!"

Suddenly the neighbor from the house next door, Mrs. Jeffreys, who liked nothing more than to push her nose in the affairs of others, stepped outside. Perhaps she'd been alarmed by the noises and smelled a chance to get a whiff of some interesting news.

"Is everything okay? I heard your yelling", she excused her unsolicited interference. But you know how it is- in bad times everybody hates a gossip, but in good times they are extremely valuable.

"Joana! You wouldn't believe what happened to my son! He was delivering equipment to his father. Then, in the desert he was attacked by aleopard. That's right, a leopard! It was this big, with teeth this long and claws like swords. Do you remember the swords we saw Mr. Musashi using during his performance? They were that sharp!" The Boy's mother put her hand at her chest, which was considerably higher than The Boy's chest, to mark the leaopard's height. Then she made a gesture that showed teeth even longer than what The Boy had indicated.

"Believe me, Joana, it was a monster!" She continued. By this point Joana's big brown eyes opened like the mouth of a hungry leopard, cherishing ever moment of this fantastic story.

"What happened? How did he manage to escape?" Joana asked, glowing with anticipation.

"Oh, he didn't escape", The Boy's mother drawled, and it was clear that she thought escaping was a cowardly act that wasn't honorable enough for The Boy to do. "He picked a stick off one of the trees and challenged the leopard to a duel." Joana was now almost burning with excitement, and this generated even greater enthusiasm in The Boy's mother.

"The leopard jumped at him, expecting an easy meal. As well he should, as what else could a savage beast expect of a helpless little boy? But no, The Boy fought back! He swung the sting in perfect timing and struck the leopard away!" She demonstrated this action very dramatically, her whole body following her swinging right arm. "And the leopard didn't believe it. So it tried again. This time it was ready to kill and use all of its monstrous might. Look at me- I tremble just picturing it- but not my courageous boy. All he needed to do was give the leopard a little prick in the right spot and the leopard was done for."

"Done for? You mean dead?" Joana said in complete awe.

"Oh, who knows. But one thing is for sure: that leopard will never attack any little boy ever again."

The Boy, watching from the side, was regaled by this terrific version of the story. He was regaled even more by Mrs. Jeffreys's ecstatic demeanor. She looked like she'd just defeated the leopard herself.

Chapter 3

 

Evening fell upon the kingdom. But unlike the day, which doesn't survive the dark, the story of the leopard was only gaining rest for another day of growing in the mouths and ears of the people.

The next morning The Boy awoke with unusual vigor, and made the morning preparations to leave the house with remarkable speed. 'It's going to be a terrific day', he thought. And there wasn't a single boy in the kingdom who could keep his patience when anticipation of something terrific strikes. He'd only left for school under a brilliant sun when his feeling was confirmed: there was a group of people assembled without any kind of order just outside the neighbor's house. They were all silent, and there was only one high-pitched voice coming from the center of the group. He immediately recognized it as Joana's, and slowed down his pace so he could pick up what she was saying.

"The leopard was bigger than the poor boy, and it hadn't eaten for days. It was looking for a pound of flesh, and the boy was a perfect snack. What would you do, Daphne? Run away? Scream for help? Oh, but there was nobody around to hear!"

"Dear Lord!" A lady in the fascinated audience cried. "What happened to that poor boy? What did he do?"

Joana fell silent for a few moments, drawing her audience along. They were all itching to find out what had befallen the hero of their story. The Boy had to struggle not to skip all the way to school out of pride and self-satisfaction.

"He stood his ground and fought! You see, it appears our boy is an exquisite swordsman that can even use sticks to fend off the most vicious enemies", he heard Joana assert before he went out of earshot.

The accolades continued through the day, as he'd wished. Word of the story had somehow reached the ears of several of the kids at school, and soon the school was bustling with different versions of it. Every time he was asked to tell the story he filled it with new, imaginary details so even on the tenth occasion he found himself excited by what he might say. He was most creative when the principal called him for a private conversation and congratulated him for his outstanding bravery. The Boy was never a very good student, but he instantly became the teachers' favorite.

 

The sun hadn't yet set on that day when The Boy's tale already became a legend throughout the kingdom. His father was heartily congratulated by some very affluent clients from the north. His mother spoke of nothing else and couldn't stop grinning for the attention and admiration every woman in the south showed her. The house became a site of pilgrimage, and no man, woman or child south of the forest missed the opportunity to lay eyes on the heroic boy. Never previously had the kingdom buzzed with such zeal, and never before had The Boy been so pleased. Overnight he transformed from a nameless boy known to no one but the neighbors and half the kids at school into the finest swordsman in the kingdom. This is what the people said of him, though they'd never seen him before and though he'd never held a sword before. 'The Boy who fought off the largest, most savage leopard in the forest' became an icon of bravery and spirit. Not a day went by in the courthouse or at the marketplace in which his story wasn't told and retold and his courage adulated. Everyone spoke of him, but only a handful of people knew who he really was. Then, when it seemed nothing could lift him even higher, he received a personal invitation to meet Prince Conan. Prince Conan, royal blood, and the second most powerful person in the kingdom, sent for him!

Needless to say, it was unprecedented for anyone humble enough to live to the south of the forest to ever have met a member of the royal family. Never had a man or woman from the south set foot on the gold-laden marble floor of the royal palace. The palace towered high over the kingdom at its northernmost point, and was rarely required to deal with anything or anyone south of the forest. The king and the royal family had more important things to deal with than the petty troubles of the people down south. But this would all change when The Boy met the young prince and make his mother the proudest woman in the whole kingdom. Oh, one who didn't see her in the week that separated between the Prince's invitation and the actual meeting knows not the meaning of a mother's pride! She couldn't think of anything during daytime or dream of anything at night but of The Boy being knighted and winning the adoration of the whole kingdom. If there was anyone in the kingdom more excited than The Boy at that time, it was his mother.

It was only on the day that preceded the intended meeting that a messenger was sent across the forest to inform The Boy's family of the prince's intentions. The messenger was a lanky young man, perhaps ten years The Boy's senior, and he was exhausted by the journey. He had not only traversed the entire kingdom from north to south, but had done so carrying a long, narrow wooden case decorated with the royal emblem.

"The Boy will take part in a public exhibition that will be held at the royal arena", the young man said in a very formal manner.

"An exhibition?" The Boy's mother said with a dreamy glow in her eyes.

"Yes. A friendly duel between him and His Highness the prince", the messenger explained expressionlessly.

The Boy's eyes popped out and his lungs became reluctant to keep breathing. "A duel?" He barely managed to mumble.

"A duel. As you know, Prince Conan is something of a prodigy in the art of swordsmanship. He has heard, of course, of The Boy's skills and wishes to put them to the test against his own. For demonstrative purposes only, of course", continued the messenger, who was still gaining his breath.

"But- I don't even have…" The Boy stuttered.

"A sword", the messenger interrupted him, offering the beautiful wooden case to The Boy. The Boy took it with shaking arms and opened it gently to find a beautiful sword nestled inside like a piece of jewelry.

"Courtesy of His Highness", the messenger added. "You will use it in the duel. The Prince assures it is nothing inferior to his own personal sword, therefore you should not feel at a disadvantage."

"But I am! I wouldn't know the first thing about swordsmanship!" The Boy cried, to the great entertainment of the messenger. "You must tell the prince that I won't be able to take part in this duel."

The messenger laughed, for he couldn't believe that any man, let alone a poor boy of the south, would dare reject an offer extended by Prince Conan himself. The Boy's mom was quick to endorse the messenger's assumption by saying:

"Don't be silly, darling. We will be most honored to accept the prince's invitation. And please, if it is possible, convey to him our deep gratitude for his consideration." By this she meant the delivery of the wonderful sword.

"But mother-" The Boy tried, but wasn't allowed to object.

"Everything is fine, darling. Everything is just fine", she insisted. The Boy looked up at his mother with a terrible scowl. It didn't make any sense to allow him to engage in a sword fight with anyone, let alone the prodigious prince. He would be humiliated, if not killed! But her mother had been so carried away in conveying her version of the story to others that she'd forgotten it didn't quite represent the truth.

"Certainly, ma'am. Be sure to arrive at the palace's main courtyard no later than tomorrow at noon. I will escort you from there to the guests' quarters. At his convenience the prince will meet you in person, and then the two boys will make their way to the arena", the messenger instructed.

"It is planned to be a public event, you say?" The Boy's mother asked.

"Indeed. I've heard half the kingdom will try to squeeze into the stands to observe the spectacle. I will tell you in secret, but you must not let it leave this room: even the royal family is bursting with anticipation. Win or lose, my dear boy, it will be a true celebration, I'm sure of it."

"We can't wait. It's strange, though, that we haven't heard of this earlier. None of our neighbors knew about it, either", The Boy's mother said.

"But of course. Entrance will be permitted only to those who live north of the forest. Oh, I almost forgot- you are allowed to bring escorts with you. Up to ten will be allowed entry", the messenger replied. Though he was never the architect of any ordnance or design undertaken by the royal family, he followed them all with heart and soul.

"Well then, you can expect a convoy of ten to accompany our fine boy", The Boy's mother said, and with much grace the messenger was shown the door.

"Mother! How could you allow-" The Boy began to protest again, and once more wasn't allowed to finish.

"Just a moment, darling. I must hurry and tell our neighbors the thrilling news", his mother said, at which point she started making basic calculations: "ten minus the three of us leaves seven. Then there's Joana, Marla Daphne…" It was fairly easy to reach the cap number, and The Boy's mother wished they were given extra seats. But the people of the south- they were used to make do with what little they had.

The Boy, disheartened to the point of tears, spent the rest of the day practicing his grip and awkward swing of the sword. It was so heavy- he could barely hold it up with one hand at first! But he practiced until dinner was served, and then until he was required to get to sleep. By the dawn of the next morning he felt at least some measure of comfort with his new sword, and with it a sliver of hope that the day wouldn't end in a disaster.

Chapter 4

 

The march to the kingdom was a long one. The procession from the south, numbering 10, set out shortly after daybreak. Not one of the family's neighbors had refused the invitation, of course, and they were all clad in their finest uniforms. The Boy's mother looked the most regal, wearing her finest black dress which she hadn't taken out of the closet in years. The Boy, too, was dressed for the occasion. Having been forced to take a break from his training the previous afternoon, he'd been rushed across the forest to a tailor who was versed with the esoteric task of preparing a commoner to meet a member of royalty. The tailor was still in a debt of gratitude to The Boy's father, who had built his tailor shop several years earlier, and so the work was offered free of charge. It wasn't the most comfortable suit he'd worn, but The Boy looked distinguished, which was the most important thing that day.

Though there had been time to spare, the procession completed the long journey without stopping to rest or eat. The Boy's mother insisted that no detours be made and no delays be allowed so as not to risk missing the appointed time. Indeed, the group of ten simple southerners reached the palace courtyard well ahead of time, and well out of breath.

But once they laid eyes on the opulence of the courtyard, the magnificent garden surrounding it, the grand stairway and finally the palace, their tribulations were at once forgotten. People of rank strutted about, their only concern in the world to outlook the others. Indeed, their extravagant uniforms put those of the procession to shame. The stones paving the courtyard were of a white so pure one should feel guilty for stepping on them. The white marble of the grand stairs was even purer. Hundreds of flowers blossomed in perfect order in the surrounding gardens, and even the grass was so clean in color and neatly trimmed that it had a royal air about it. The area of the garden alone was larger than that of all the houses of all the members of the procession.

Then, at the very top of the upward slope, stood the crown of the kingdom: the royal palace. It was a masterpiece of stone, marble, glass, gold, and diamond. Word will surely fall short of describing its glamour, therefore anyone who hasn't seen it should close their eyes for a moment and imagine the most exquisite palace that could ever be built. That is just the image that towered high over the courtyard and the guests from the south.

There were dozens of people walking leisurely along the spacious courtyard, occupied only by the need to impress one another. Greetings were exchanged and light conversation was made. New connections and impressions were formed, and most of all idle time was passed with some measure of pleasure. It was fortunate that our visitors from the south had been meticulous about their apparel, otherwise they should expect to be ogled at and ridiculed by the distinguished crowd. But no, in their current condition the visitors derived much pleasure from the occasion. They were no different, really, from the ladies with the funny hats and puffy dresses, or from the men with the fine cloaks. At least they didn't let the differences show, which is all that counts.

At least an hour of admiring the previously unknown environment went by, and not a single one of the visitors from the south had had enough. But appointments should be kept anywhere, and if nowhere else than certainly in royal circles. Therefore the messenger, donning a far more glittery costume than he had the previous day, descended to meet the visitors only seconds before the bell in the tower at the east of the courtyard struck noon. The Boy's mother recognized him while he was pacing down the stairs, and advanced to meet him at the very center of the courtyard.

"Madam", he greeted with a slight bow forward.

"Sir."

"You've had a tedious journey, I expect."

"Oh, nonsense. It is nothing but an honor for us to be here." But words can't disguise the symptoms of the body, and her state of exhaustion and near dehydration were evident to the kind messenger.

"The Prince has offered to accommodate you and your escorts with a royal meal in the palace's guests' dining hall. No- he has requested it. Even urged it, one might say. But we'd better be light on our feet, as The Prince wishes to meet the boy privately before the clock strikes one." Such an opportunity couldn't be waived, of course, and the visitors enjoyed a more sumptuous meal than most people even dare dream about.

At several minutes to the appointed time of one after noon The Boy was requested to take leave of the table and accompany the messenger to the Prince's quarters. Overwhelmed by the culinary wealth, he'd managed to set aside his deep nervousness and apprehension from what was to come, but now it all fell back upon him at once. Even the splendor of the interior of the palace and the festive atmosphere that seemed to be thickly present there didn't allay the burden. The Boy's arms were stiff with the weight of the sword case and the sword inside it, and his stomach was aching since he'd overeaten. No boy south of the forest could have a more desirable yet inaccessible dream than to be invited into the royal palace to celebrate some great fear of his. The Boy was in those very moments realizing this dream, yet he wished nothing more than to be back at home and have the whole thing forgotten.

But when the messenger knocked softly on the grand wooden door of the Prince's quarters, The Boy's wishes dissipated. He narrowed the spread of his lips to efface any trace of a smile, straightened his back as tightly as he could, and flattened his arms against his sides. This was the posture his mother had instructed him to assume when he was about to first meet the prince, affected by the noticeable influence of his anxiety. He felt quite silly standing like this, but then he felt most rich or royal people looked rather silly.

There was a long silent pause after the messenger's knock, and The Boy was filled with hope that there had been some urgent matter that would keep the prince and the whole event would be called off. Like many wishful hopes are, though, it vanished prematurely when the sound of footsteps tapping on a marble floor sounded from inside the room. A middle-aged servant opened the large wooden door and greeted the messenger.

"This is The Boy?" He asked. From the manner in which this short exchange was engaged it could be gathered that the servant was at a higher position than the messenger. The messenger obviously held some authority over The Boy. And the prince, well, to compare him even to his servant would be an outright farce. So you can only imagine how great the leap The Boy was making in the kingdom's well-structured social ladder was. Just a single isolated encounter between the two should be considered an occurrence rarer than an encounter between a man and a leopard.

The messenger nodded to the servant's question.

"Hello sir", the servant bade with no small measure of respect. It was the first time he could remember anyone calling him 'sir', and he found it rather to his liking. "The Prince awaits you. Come in, please. And hand me your shoes." The Boy did as he was told. He was surprised that, like the servant, he was to walk in his socks in the prince's quarters, which he found to be awfully informal. (It was very fortunate that his mother had made sure that he'd put on without holes that morning, which wasn't always the case). But when he saw the sparkling cleanliness of the cream-colored floor it seemed sinful to soil it with the dirty sole of a shoe that ever stepped outside.

The room was plush and spacious, with much room and many comfortable seats to entertain guests of the highest standing in. There was a beautiful, ivory-coated fireplace near the right corner of the room, though there were no logs in sight. The walls were hung with pictures of various scenic spots in the kingdom, and one large frame that contained a portrait of the prince. What a dashing young man he was! Beside the portrait was a stately wooden stand that held a single sheathed sword. The proximity between the portrait and the sword didn't seem coincidental. Clearly the young man in the portrait had swordsmanship running in his blood.

At the left the room opened into a wide corridor, which the servant marched into right after inviting The Boy to seat himself with no particular limitation and offering him a drink of his choice. The Boy could hear the servant knocking on a door that must've been the prince's bedroom and declaring the arrival of his guest. The Boy thought that if he had his own room only half as large and a quarter the level of luxury of the one he was in, he would be the richest man south of the forest. But to the prince this was only a guest room or entertainment room, and The Boy could imagine that his bedroom was twice as glamorous.

'If only I could be a prince', he thought. 'Even for a single day…'

But the prince didn't think as little of his guest as the guest thought highly of the prince. His respect for The Boy was greater than for every common resident of the kingdom, as well it should be since The Boy was the hero of the day. In fact, he thought of him as an equal, at least at the moment.

The Prince hobbled out of his bedroom without delay to meet his distinguished guest. The Boy rose to his feet when the prince appeared at the start of the corridor (as he'd been instructed to do), but was frankly quite disappointed at what he saw. Prince Conan wasn't the handsome, regal young man in the portrait or the superior being he'd been in The Boy's imagination, but a boy not entirely different from The Boy himself. He was almost a normal person, a few years older than The boy but certainly not a full-grown man. Yes, you'd better believe it: they were both made primarily of six natural elements, both walked on two legs, and both had a brain that thought and a heart that felt. In the eyes of creatures not human they were one and the same.

Well, let's not allow ourselves to get carried away and consider the two boys entirely similar. We see them through human eyes and therefore must acknowledge certain discrepancies between them, but the main point should be taken: their similarities outweighed their differences.

The Prince came very near before speaking, while The Boy held his tongue until spoken to, which is what every humble guest should do.

"It's a great honor to meet you", the lanky prince said, almost forcing The boy's hand to shake his. The prince had a firm shake and a piercing gaze, and despite everything we've said he was more regal an appearance than any kind of apparel could make the boy. He wore a puffy blue satin shirt with glittery white lacing that The Boy wondered if it was a symbol of royalty or of swordsmanship skills.

"The honor is mine, Your Highness", the boy replied, again repeating what mother had taught him the previous evening.

The prince chuckled nervously. "Call me Conan, please."

"Very well. And you may call me-"

"I'll call you 'Boy' if that's okay with you." Since the prince was almost as unfamiliar with the rules of conduct between commoners as The Boy was relating to royalty, this form of referral didn't seem inappropriate to him.

The Boy nodded and took a seat beside the prince in a long, flowery couch that sunk deep under their weight. The servant returned at this point with a glass of cold juice for The Boy and nothing for the prince.

"Thank you, Godfrey", the prince said. "Now leave us, please."

"Sir, your father will be waiting for you in exactly two hours at the foyer, after you've visited the tailor", Godfrey said apologetically.

"You don't have to remind me; we'll be there. Now leave us!" The prince snapped. He was noticeably nervous. It was the first indication The Boy had ever gotten that royal people could become nervous. He was a prince- what could he possibly have to be nervous of? Of course The Boy became even more nervous now, since anything that made the prince nervous had to be of a very grave nature. Indeed it was, as he was soon to find out, and we as well.

"I hope you're not disappointed with the sword I've sent you. It is one of the kingdom's finest", the prince said very graciously. But he didn't wait for The Boy's reply and added: "you must be very excited for today, Boy", said the prince, leveling his piercing green eyes at The Boy's. The Boy changed his mind about the prince's appearance: with his dark hair, fine white skin, subtly hooked nose and very expressive face (which in its normal state expressed solemnity), he was very handsome. Not as handsome as in the portrait hanging just above him at the moment, but certainly a joy to look at.

"Yes, indeed. Excited and nervous, to be frank", said The Boy.

"Nervous? What have you to be nervous for? You are a hero and, as they say, the finest young swordsman in the whole kingdom. " There was noticeable unease in the prince toward the end of this sentence.

The Boy blushed and clasped his hands together for lack of anything better to do with them. "Oh but you are far too kind, prince- I mean, Conan. The people embellish; I wish they didn't, but they do. I can't be half the swordsman you are. I assure you of it." How ironic was The Boy's situation: a day earlier there had been nothing he was grateful for more than the people's tendency to decorate the truth to make it, and themselves, more interesting, but now there was no end to his loathing of it.

"Yes, the people do embellish", the prince repeated pensively. "I agree with you there. But I can't agree with the other thing you said. If you knew the truth about the matter I'm afraid you might be exceedingly disappointed." The Boy screwed his face into an expression of sheer perplexity, and the prince continued: "I will tell you this truth, but you must vow secrecy to me here and now, and never betray me."

The Boy was shocked and intrigued. "Certainly. Why, your Highness, you needn't even mention it. A simple boy like myself would never betray your trust."

"No; you don't understand. If I tell you this one secret- this greatest secret I keep from the world- you must bury it with you in your grave. And even then it must be buried underneath you so that if they were to dig you out they still wouldn't find out."

Now The Boy could hardly contain himself. "If need be, I will remove my own tongue to avoid speaking it", he assured. And this assurance seemed to satisfy the prince as much as he could be satisfied on this point.

"Very well", he said. "You must also not question- not even once- the truthfulness of what I'm about to tell you. I profess to you here that I won't stray an inch from the truth, and I shall tolerate no expression of doubt on it. "

"You are the prince of our kingdom. The truth is what you claim it to be."

"In that case I will confess to you what I've confessed to no one, and then I shall ask a personal favor from you." The Boy leaned closer, his hands now grasping the edge of the seat of the couch. The Prince minced no more words and lowered his voice:

"I'm not the swordsman the kingdom believes me to be. In fact, despite my diligent training, my skills are quite poor. I can be no match to your famous dexterity." The Prince buried his handsome face in a pair of white hands in a very un-regal show of vulnerability. There was only one thought that came to the bewildered Boy's mind: 'There is a God in Heaven!'

He was careful, though, not to reveal this thought. He was also careful not to imply that the Prince was being overly modest or underestimating himself, as he'd vowed not to do. Instead he probed the background: "If that is the case, why was this event arranged? Surely, it was initiated by the royal family." This unpredictable turn of events stirred great confidence in The Boy's heart in the company of the prince. Finally he could feel that there was one aspect- even if one in a million- in which he could overtake his host. This aspect wasn't his swordsmanship skills, of course, for the prince's couldn't no matter the circumstances be inferior to his, but that he knew the prince's secret, while the prince didn't know his.

"It was arranged by my father, who used to train me personally and thought he saw in me some buried talent. You know, parents are sometimes like that. So he called in Mr. Musashi, an old friend and a legendary teacher of the art though he is little known in the kingdom, and asked him to make me into the finest swordsman the kingdom has ever known. Mr. Musashi agreed to undertake this presumptuous mission as a personal favor to father. With his sharp eyes he saw quickly that I wasn't the prodigy father had believed me to be. But as a personal favor to me, he continued to train me without informing father of his folly. Father has therefore long believed that I have few equals in the kingdom; when word of your heroism reached his ears, he became incorrigible. He wanted to prove to the kingdom that a simple boy from the south, though there may be none braver than he, is no match to the prince. Mr. Musashi's pleas were futile, and needless to say father wouldn't even listen to me. And so here we are, before what may be the royal family's greatest humiliation, in front of half the kingdom. And Mr. Musashi- he refused to flee the kingdom as I'd suggested. It would take less than an unforeseeable disaster for him to be hanged on account of deceiving the King."

The Boy stared at the chagrined prince in astonishment. 'It wouldn't take as many modifications to his story as one might expect for it to become my story', he thought. All of his nervousness and anxiety ever since he'd learned of the arrangement of the duel- the prince shared them, only tenfold as intensely! Then he thought, 'I could surely allay his discomfort if I revealed to him my own secret.' But why should he do it? He'd suffered so much to keep his secret to himself; perhaps this would be his chance to be rewarded for it.

"You see", the prince continued, "why it is imperative that I keep this secret hidden from the people, and most of all from my father."

"I do. But I don't see how it would be possible to do."

"Oh, but it would! It is! With your generous help, my dear friend."

"My help? But I'm only a boy. What influence could I possibly have on such grave affairs?"

"But you're not just a boy. You are The Boy who defeated a monster with a stick and nothing more! And you are my rival in the duel, and the one whose superior skills of swordsmanship would reveal the inferiority of mine." The prince was becoming enlivened, as though relaying his trail of thought to The Boy made it more plausible to the prince himself. The Boy, on the other hand, was put ill at ease. He'd focused on the prince's plight to forget his own troubles, but was now reminded of the humiliation he might bring to himself, to his parents, and to all the people south of the forest. He also realized that if the duel were to take place as planned, the prince should have no reason for concern. He would defeat The Boy so convincingly that the true nature of his skills would remain unknown. So he, The Boy, was the only one whose plight was real. But his, the prince's, was the only plight known to them both and therefore of any consequence.

"You imply that I may be of assistance to you", he said without giving away a single clue as to his troubled thoughts.

"You may be my savior", the prince said without reservation.

"I beg your pardon? I think you overestimate me. Wildly, if I may say so. I can only do what I can do, will though I may to do much more."

"Err not, my friend. Refuse my request if you like, but don't deny the truth: the fate of our duel, and with it my fate as prince, lies in your hands."

"This so called truth evades me, but I shall like very much to hear this request you speak of but have yet to state."

The prince sight heavily, making not the slightest effort to hide the toll this discussion was taking on him, and especially what was to follow.

"Let me reign supreme. Do whatever necessary to allow me to triumph over you", he said in the voice of an abashed thief.

"You mean let you-"

"Let me win. Precisely. Strike slowly. Act surprised by my attacks, predictable and weak though they may be. Grunt and moan if you must. And in the end of the act, submit to me. Prove that you're not only a superior swordsman but also a superior man to me."

"But won't they be able to tell? Your father- he's an expert swordsman. I'm afraid I'm a very poor actor; he will see right through it."

"Not if we arrange a preconceived sequence."

"You mean-"

"Plan our moves ahead. Coordinate our ever strike, every maneuver, so that I will take the advantage first, then you will turn the tables on me, and finally succumb to a last-minute surprise counterstrike. It'll be only half an act, really. Don't forget, they're not expecting blood, so we would have to take special care anyway. Nobody will be able to tell."

'Yes! It's the perfect solution!' The Boy thought. 'I will be defeated- but that neither matters nor is avoidable. I will be spared the humiliation as long as I follow our predetermined sequence. Nobody will ever find out that yesterday was the first time I'd ever held a sword. This whole event will be forgotten- perhaps even celebrated if our sequence is dynamic enough. And the prince will be content.' He was about to express his enthusiastic consent to the prince's request, but then the deal was made even sweeter for him:

"Agree to it, dear friend, and you shall always have the gratitude of the prince, and perhaps one day the king, of your kingdom", the prince said humbly. Such a true and unpresumptuous young man he was, that The Boy took this as an infallible guarantee that he would always remain in the prince's favor if their plan was effective.

"I agree!" He exclaimed, only partially successful in concealing his enthusiasm. "I will do as you request of me."

"You will? Oh, God bless you, my friend; my brother!" The prince blurted out almost ecstatically. He hugged the simple boy from the south and was filled with life. "Now, we have just over an hour to practice our moves. Here's what I had in mind…" And he lifted the sword from its stately stand on the wall and began to demonstrate his plan.

Chapter 5

 

The big courtyard bell was about to strike four o'clock, and the stage was set for the commencement of a truly festive event of the kind that painted the kingdom in its most colorful form and put the people in their finest feather. The arena was crowded with thousands of eager men, women and children, almost all of whom were of rank, who reveled at the spectacle that they believed had been arranged on their behalf. What a brilliant, selfless enterprise it was, undertaken by their beloved king for the entertainment of his people! Indeed, there wasn't a single member of the great audience that wasn't thoroughly entertained.

The main event had been preceded by some silly acts of acrobatics, followed by a thrilling bullfight that included five bulls and seven bullfighters. The outcome of the fight was of course predictable to all, but the process of spilling the bulls' blood somehow nonetheless stirred great excitement in the audience. Most excited were the children, to whom the sight of blood was usually a most hideous experience. But the arena had its own rules and the people their own personality when they were in the stands.

Presently, the protagonists of the event that was the real reason the great crowd had congregated were preparing to enter the arena from the main gate, and the suspense in the audience was tangible. Meanwhile, the prince and The Boy were waiting in a dark tunnel for the gates to be opened. They stood side by side, muttering something to each other on occasion but remaining silent for the most part. They were both focused on practicing the prearranged sequence, which they'd already practiced at least twenty times but wished there was time to increase that number tenfold. They were equally and undividedly intent on this, as each of them believed that if the sequence unraveled he would be lost.

For the event that the sequence would, for all their efforts, be botched, they'd shrewdly prepared a Plan B. They'd agreed upon certain very simple key words that each would use in his turn in order to prepare the other for the upcoming strike. This way the defending side could always expect the attack beforehand and easily prevent it. It was riskier than following the sequence, but it provided a good security net.

The two boys wore matching uniforms, which weren't very comfortable but were indeed very presentable. The Boy had been fitted a red satin shirt of the same design as the prince's by the royal tailor. Who knew that a tailor could muster up such fine handiwork within one hour! Then again this shouldn't be terribly shocking, as he was the finest tailor in the whole kingdom. From the waist down they were identical, wearing much more comfortable black cotton trousers. Anyone with the slightest familiarity with the principles of good swordsmanship knew that, contrary to popular opinion, it was the legs and not the arms that made the difference.

They heard a man at the center of the arena present them to the zealous crowd, and then with a deep grumble the giant doors began to open.

"Are you ready, Boy?" The prince said nervously.

The Boy only nodded, for he was far too tense to speak.

When they stepped out into the sunny open arena they were greeted with a tremendous roar. The Boy's knees wobbled, and he looked at the prince with a sense of surrender in his eyes. To practice their charade in private was one thing, though nerve-wracking in itself, but to do it here in front of so many impassioned people… he couldn't do it! It would be humiliating to turn back and bolt back into the tunnel now, but a thousand times more to be ridiculed by half the kingdom.

"I'm sorry, prince. I can't do it", he mumbled. But when he realized that the prince had the same concern in his beautiful blue eyes he retrieved his courage. Fortunately the prince hadn't heard him over the raucous.

"Wave!" The prince said to him instead.

"What?"

"Wave to the crowd! Thank them for coming to see us." The prince demonstrated, swinging his arm from side to side and turning around so the whole audience could bask in his fleeting attention. The Boy followed suit, and when he saw the joy and excitement the people derived from such a simple gesture, he was greatly energized. Suddenly this whole thing didn't seem like a very bad idea.

"This is fantastic!" He bellowed so the prince could hear. The prince lacked The Boy's newfound enthusiasm, as this kind of glorious halo wasn't new to him. On the contrary, he was afraid of losing it.

"Focus, Boy", he said. "This is no time for celebration. Remember- I strike first."

The Boy nodded, rehearsing the sequence in his mind again. It was so much clearer and easier to follow when he had this great confidence inside him. The man at the center of the arena said a few more words to hush the audience and then declared the beginning of the duel between the two boys who everyone believed to be the finest young swordsmen in the kingdom.

The sword was light in The Boy's right hand. He felt grateful to the goddess of fortune for having persuaded him to train the previous evening. It'd seemed useless at the time, but was no proving to be immensely valuable. His confidence and the crowd's enthusiasm were to thank as well. The duel set off with an upper right-hand strike delivered by the prince. The Boy staged a timely block, and the two swords clanked to the excitement of the buzzing audience.

'Good', thought The Boy. 'The prince has started gently.'

Two steps back, another block on the left side, and then came The Boy's turn to launch an offensive. He delivered a low left side swing first, then another from the opposite side. He relished being blocked, relished the vibration as the swords clanked together, relished his perfect coordination with the prince, and most of all he relished the fact that he still held the hilt firmly and was in full control of his sword.

In such a fashion a plausible and greatly entertaining make-believe duel played out at the center of the arena, and the people were ecstatic. The Boy thought of his parents in the stands and wished he could see them, but they were swallowed in the masses and didn't stand out from any of the thousands of avid spectators.

First the prince attacked, then The Boy. Left, right, up, down; a thrust, an extravagant parrying move; a grunt of frustration, a n exclamation of exhilaration. It was the perfect show, and the accord between the two recent strangers put that of the members of the King's guard to shame. Their delight of the occasion grew and the predetermined sequence was drawing to an end, which meant that glory and success were near. They'd performed it to the letter, but a boy's appetite is always difficult to satisfy once he's gotten a taste of something delicious. And so The Boy wasn't yet prepared to lay down his sword and admit defeat, as would soon be the move required of him according to the sequence.

'I'm matched against the prince', The Boy thought proudly.

'I'm matched against the finest young swordsman in town', the prince thought spiritedly.

"Let's continue", The Boy said to the prince between two clanks of their swords. There was no need to lower his voice, as they were at least twenty yards away from the nearest member of the audience, and there was no way he could be heard over the constant buzz.

"What? If you're joking then I appreciate the humor, and on this occasion I salute your performance", the prince replied, parrying a thrust and striking hard from above, knowing The Boy was good for a firm block. "Well done, my friend! Like I promised, you will have fallen in favor with the royal family after today, and will be rewarded handsomely for your loyalty."

"What is this humor you speak of?" The Boy corrected, the excitement of the performance prevailing over the temptation of the prince's promise. "Let's continue! We can use our signs to coordinate. I'm not ready to admit defeat just yet." The prince began to protest, but The Boy had already signaled that he was about to strike twice from the right side. The swords clanked twice, and then were locked in an X shape that couldn't be broken until one of the sides relented. After swords, eyes locked as well and each boy assessed his rival's condition. They were both exhausted and both had sore arms, but The Boy was doing a better job hiding it. He looked almost fresh, which infused the prince with concern.

"Please, boy", the prince mumbled entreatingly. "I'm terribly weary. I need my victory."

"You will have to take it yourself", The Boy responded defiantly. The prince thought that his rival was simply enjoying their duel and wished to prolong it before surrendering, so he declared 'right, left, thrust' and delivered three corresponding strikes. What he didn't know was that The Boy had had a sudden change of heart. He was so overwhelmed by the crowd's frenzy and by the thrill of the fight that he was no longer loyal to his prince and instead wanted to make victory his own. But he forgot that excessive enthusiasm causes boys, as well as grown men, to lose sight of reality. His practice and confidence enabled him to hold the sword comfortable and put on a fine charade, but he was in no position to defeat the prince.

The Boy's stroke of fortune was over for the day, and soon his sword was knocked out of his weak hand by a furious strike from the prince. Its clinking noise as it hit the ground was drowned by a deep 'oh' from the crowd. The prince pointed the edge of his sword at The Boy's chest, and the boy conceded his defeat with a bow. Believing that The Boy had finally decided to give way, the prince bowed back and mouthed 'thank you' as the audience burst into a flurry of applause. It was a grand finale to a glorious duel and a wonderful afternoon that even made the king stand on his feet and cheer. The gallant prince was crowned the finest young swordsman in the kingdom, and The Boy was cheered for his tenacity and the brave fight he'd put on. The visitors from the south were every bit as proud as the aristocrats in the audience, and the most excited person in the whole arena was The Boy's mother.

Chapter 6

 

There didn't exist better friends in the whole kingdom than The Boy and the prince. The prince was true to his promise to reward The Boy handsomely for his cooperation during the duel, and The Boy took full advantage of the opportunity. He enjoyed the prince's company, and even more so found great appeal in the goods and presents that were gifted to him every time he visited the palace. Most of all, however, he relished the newfound respect he was accorded thanks to his association with the prince. There were few in the kingdom who didn't recognize his face, and none of them were people of importance. Those who didn't regard him with awe whenever they were fortunate enough to cross paths with him were almost as few. And this wasn't limited only to youngsters, but even the distinguished men that his father worked for.

And what greater blessing can a poor boy ask for than such a sudden turn of fortune? The Boy didn't forget God, as he did many of his friends, and thanked him many times for his lot. And God rewarded The Boy's faithfulness with ever growing affinity from the royal family.

Boy and prince, both being single children, became as brothers to each other. At first The Boy would make the journey through the forest on a daily basis to meet his friend, but eventually he was assigned his own plush bedroom in the prince's quarters. His home became the palace, and he would occasionally visit his parents in the south, always bearing gifts of food or expensive decorations for the house. If his parents were saddened by their only son's absence they didn't show it, for they only wanted what was best for him. And boys are never as considerate as parents, and so The Boy's principal concern was also what was best for him. He had the life of a prince, though not quite since he was never fully accepted by the king and the queen as their own son. He was too poor and too ill-mannered for it.

There were only two things the brothers didn't share. One was the journey through the forest, which The Boy never even suggested the prince join him in, as it was too disgraceful for the prince of the kingdom to be seen south of the forest. The second was anything that had to do with swords. Their friendship and more importantly their honor relied on a lie known only to them, this lie being the duel that had first brought them together. They were wise enough to avoid the subject as one should avoid the edge of a sword, and so they never held swords in the same room. Of course The Boy had also his own secret to keep even from his best friend, and so he never dared to duel or even hold his sword in the presence of anyone else. When the prince offered to ask Mr. Musashi to train The Boy, our hero refused under the pretense that he liked to train alone. He wished he could really train and become a true swordsman, but he was too afraid that if anyone knew his secret he would lose his place in the palace and the prince's affection. So train alone he did, but with no proper guidance his progress was slight and slow.

But these two restrictions were not serious impediments to the brother's relationship or to The Boy's blossoming. He was educated by the kingdom's greatest minds along with the prince, learned the rules of etiquette, wore only a gentleman's clothes, and basically was able to get rid of his identity as a poor boy. He earned the king's respect in degrees, and eventually was considered a half-prince in the eyes of the people.

Things were truly boding well for The Boy as you can see, and there was more, much more, still to come. On his 16th birthday, after The Boy had grown taller than the prince and as robust as a fierce soldier, the king took advantage of the grand banquet thrown in The Boy's honor to make a dramatic declaration. The King was tall and imposing in physique, and had his royal cape and crown on, as tradition had him do in all formal events. But even without these everyone would silence at the sound of his voice.

"Hear, hear! As you all know, Captain Marcus, the head of my Guard, is due to retire within the space of one month from today. Lieutenant Vargas will be joining him, and the two will continue their loyal duty to me within the territory of the palace. I believe there to be no time more suitable than the present to declare the new heirs to these prestigious positions. Ladies and gentlemen, beginning thirty days from this very evening, the King's Guard will be commanded by my son, your prince, and his Lieutenant shall be the fine boy whose seventeenth year we celebrate today. Let's raise our glasses and fill them with fine wine for the health and courage of these two young men. To you, son! And to you, my dear boy!"

The clinking of glasses was followed by a lively round of applause and a single giant grin that started with the king at the head of the table and spread all the way to the queen at the other end. The King's Guard was a symbolic unit charged with safeguarding the king as well as maintaining order in the whole kingdom. Since the kingdom was at peace and on very friendly terms with its neighbors, there was no regular army and so the Guard was to safeguard the kingdom's borders as well. Rarely were the members of the Guard required to engage in battle or any violent affair, but it wasn't unheard of. It was customary for the king's elder son to be appointed Captainof the Guard when he came of age, but for a young man of only 17 as our prince this appointment was a token of the king's appreciation and high esteem. As for the position of Lieutenant, it was normally filled by a senior member of the Guard and so The Boy's appointment was truly sensational. Even more so considering the fact that he was the first member of the Guard ever to have come from the south of the woods.

The merriment of that unforgettable evening grew even stronger after the king's declaration, and none of the four score guests was gayer than the two brothers. They could now see the path forged for them by the king leading them to a mutual future of glory and dignity, which wouldn't require them to part ways. And while they had zero experience in combat and little knowledge of the codes and practices of the Guard, these two boys were filled with anticipation. Fear of the unknown or of a formidable challenge was a stranger to them, which was not the least reason for which the king had chosen them at such timing.

This was, of course, an event of great significance and a cause of great joy for The Boy, but the magical evening of his 16th didn't end here. It just so happened that one of the distinguished guests in the majestic dining hall, the daughter of one of the king's many advisors, was a girl of 18 whose beauty in The Boy's eyes made even the large diamonds on the queen's neck and hands lose their shine. Her eyes were a lustrous green so intense that they reminded him of the leopard that had changed his life, and her smooth brown hair flowed perfectly down to her shoulders like the steady flow of the river that had always been a place of asylum in dangerous territory. Her skin was a pearly white and her angelic face was dotted with light freckles under the eyes. It was obvious in the first glance that she had a good heart, and when she smiled it became clear that she also filled with energy and life. A purple blouse frilled at the neck and black satin pants covered her lean, fragile body. Her beauty was effortless, and yet it was second to not a single one of the other score or so of beautiful woman of rank in the room.

And what better sign of the spellbound evening's good fortune than this particular girl should march to The Boy's side at the grand cocktail table and take the ecstasy that poured into him that evening to new heights!

"I think the prince is a very lucky man to have you as his Lieutenant", she said in a soft voice that rang like the finest melody in The Boy's ears. Somehow, though he had his back to her and hadn't seen her approaching, he knew it was her.

"The honor is mine", he said, and for a moment he stared at the resplendent creature before him in silence. He'd laid eyes on her several times before during the evening, but her beauty was twice as obvious from up close. "And it's even a greater honor to make your acquaintance, Ms. …"

"Parthons. Aphrodite Parthons", the fair girl said with a rolling giggle. The Boy was by now well versed with the proper etiquette and mastered even the most esoteric nuances that made a true member of royalty stand out from any man of a common run. He was a well-spoken, charming young man that could lure the interest of the dullest of aristocrats. This was the first time he'd used his charm on a beautiful girl, however.

"Parthons. One of the king's most respected advisors. If the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree, then the king has chosen well."

"Oh yes. The king is famous for the judicious choices he makes", Aphrodite returned the compliment.

"It seems he is. Well, my dear Aphrodite- I may call you Aphrodite? Good. Forgive me, for I'm sure what I wish to tell you is as trite as are compliments paid to the queen by her ladies in waiting, and in fact I'm confident everyone in this room has thought it at least once this evening. But I'd like to say it anyway."

"Please", the fine young lady said in a whisper, drawing nearer.

"You are- and may the king revoke my appointment as Lieutenant in his Guard if I'm being dishonest- more beautiful than any girl I've ever seen. More beautiful than I could even dream of. I almost find it hard to believe you are real."

Aphrodite flushed, and her little round nose twitched adorably. "You are quite the talker. I'm sure you could've had your pick of any lady in this room, and yet you seem to have taken a liking to me. That alone makes this moment one that I shall never forget. Thank you." He could tell from her quivering voice that the sentimentality of her words wasn't affected. In his view it was not he who deserved gratitude but she. For just those first moments of elation he felt that nothing short of a lifetime of thankfulness would repay her.

By the end of the evening The Boy could hardly recall the original reason for the lavish event or the tremendous honor he'd been bestowed. Too engrossed was he in his affection for Aphrodite for any other thought to trouble his mind or feeling to temper with his heart. The two didn't leave each other's side until Mr. Parthons declared that their time of departure had arrived. Aphrodite loitered for as long as she could, but it would've been outrageous to make Mr. Parthons call her name a third time, so with tingles all over she gave her hand to The Boy and congratulated him a final time.

"Goodbye, Lieutenant", she said, all her features shining as though this was now the beginning of the evening. Her beauty was even more remarkable now next to the exhausted faces of the majority of the remaining guests. It is the way of banquets to fill the stomachs of the diners to excess, to the detriment of their vigor and temper. But it is the way of blooming love to counter any external negative effect on a young sweetheart.

"Goodbye, my dear Aphrodite. I should like very much to see you again very soon, if it would please you", said our boy. As he said it he realized what influence she had on his heart at the moment. Yes, and he would be in the seventh heaven; no, and he would mourn for weeks.

"Oh, I was so afraid you would never ask!" Cried the girl that was now the center of his existence. "Tomorrow behind the bell tower, when the clock strikes three. Will you be there? I won't have much time."

"I will be waiting at midday on the off chance that you arrive one minute early", said the jubilant Lieutenant, and he kissed her hand and watched her leave. He knew then that, whether he died for his king in the battlefield the next week or a hundred years later a wrinkly old man, he would never forget that night.

But The Boy couldn't wait that long. Even before the last of the night's stars flickered in the sky, while he was celebrating the convergence of their bright futures with the prince, he declared to his best friend the real reason for his joy.

"I can't stop thinking about her! We were together for so long, did you see it?" He blurted out with no forewarning.

"Who? What do you mean?"

"Aphrodite. Mr. Parthons' daughter. Didn't you see?" The Boy said, slightly disappointed that there was someone in the kingdom who wasn't excited beyond his senses by the little romance.

"Oh. Yes, I noticed… I didn't think it was so serious."

"What serious? My heart is hers!"

"They say she's the most beautiful girl in the entire kingdom."

"Who? Who says?" The Boy blurted out, now utterly beyond himself.

"Well… I do. You've got yourself just about the finest girl a guy could dream of, brother." The Boy was too excited to notice the darkening of the prince's face and the undertone of disappointment in his voice, and the prince made every effort in his power to conceal this from him. Rather than voice his protest and dampen his friend's high spirits, he offered a piece of sound advice. "I suspect she has had her fair share of suitors and perhaps romances- it would be rather astonishing if she hasn’t, wouldn't it? So if I were in your shoes I wouldn't point out just now your lack of experience. She is already two years your senior; you don't want her thinking you as a child. Those are my thoughts on the matter, in any case."

"You're right, of course. Brother, I owe everything to you! I will do as you suggest, and you will receive a detailed report of the results. Thank you, brother; I would be lost without you." And this is how the day came to an end, with The Boy lighter than clouds and the prince struggling with his own inner conflict.

When the sun reached a zenith in the sky the next day The Boy and the prince were making their first acquaintance as new recruits to the Guard. But The Boy wasn't entirely untrue to his promise, and arrived at the courtyard an hour before the appointed time. Afraid to attract attention from the passersby and expose a connection that was to be kept secret for the time being, he wore a cloak and kept his head down. (Word of his appointment to the Guard was sure to have circulated in the kingdom's high social circles, therefore he could expect to be the absolute center of attention among the frequenters of the courtyard). He retired at once to the bell tower at the northeast corner of the courtyard and sat atop the escarpment that bordered the tower on the outside and overlooked a wide valley. The valley stretched along the entire western face of the kingdom, separating it from the surrounding mountain ridges. Running along the valley was a river whose waters were rather calm at this particular time of year, adding to the pastoral nature of the scenery. The view to the west was breathtaking, but it hardly soothed his nervousness.

Finally the large bronze bell struck three times to mark the arrival of the hour three after noon. No sooner had the heavy echo traveled away down the valley than a whiff of a wonderful fragrance told him that she'd come.

"Aphrodite!"

"Hello, darling. Have you been waiting for long?" They hugged and kissed and The Boy was delighted to see that the passion he felt for her was shared. Aphrodite was no longer wearing her dazzling attire from the previous evening, but here taste for good style was just as evident. Also, there was something about her more simple and natural look that made her even more attractive.

"Who knows?" He said. "It is impossible to track time when you're on my mind."

"Oh, so I'm on your mind?" The lovely young woman chirped shyly, and a gentle red hue came to her puffy cheeks. The Boy felt himself melting in to her humble charm again, but then he remembered the prince's advice. He didn't want to be overenthusiastic.

"Yes, you are but… it's always like that when I meet a new girl that I like."

"Always? What do you mean? Have you met a lot of girls like me?" Aphrodite didn't look impressed or especially contented by this. She was surprised and mostly, it seemed, humored by it.

"No, not a lot. Only some", The Boy stammered, almost tempted to tell the truth. "But I'm sure you've met too many boys like me to remember."

"That's not true!" Aphrodite blurted out and burst out in a wonderful laughter that echoed through the tower like the sweetest ring of the bell.

"Don't be too modest. My dear, you are a masterpiece, and any connoisseur would be a fool not to fall at your feet." The Boy curbed his enthusiasm again and added: "luckily I'm no connoisseur. I'm just a warrior."

"A great warrior and a master swordsman", said the exquisite Aphrodite. "You know, I saw your duel with the prince that day in the arena." The Boy's brows flew up in his forehead and his eyes lit up.

"You did?"

"I was there with father, and you know what I think? I think you two were fooling everyone. Father wouldn't hear it, but I know it's true. Admit it to me! You let him win, didn't you?"

The Boy's heart beat violently. He had an urge to tell her the truth, thus making her the only person in the kingdom aside from the prince and him who knew. Confiding in her, he felt, would seal the bond between them. "You're right", he said. "I let him win. If he had lost it would've been quite a humiliating display, don't you think?"

"I can understand how he felt. Oh, you are such a kind heart!"

"And there's more. But this is something that nobody else in the entire kingdom knows, and before I tell you you must promise me that you will never say a word about it. You mustn't even think about it once we've said goodbye today."

"I would sooner die", she whispered in utter fascination. This was proof to The Boy that even the purest of feminine hearts is fond of a good piece of gossip. He looked around suspiciously and said it softly.

"The prince was never a very good swordsman. It's all fake."

Aphrodite's face fell. She wasn't outraged by the content of the charade, but by the fact that such a misconception had been built and nurtured for so long. "Why? Why didn't he just acknowledge it?"

"The king insisted that he should be the finest swordsman in the kingdom. The prince tried to persuade him, but you know how adamant the king can get. He'd tried to call off the duel, but the king wouldn't hear it. And after that, well, it was just too much."

"And nobody else knows?"

"Only I."

"Oh, dear! To hold in such a secret for so long… What a terrible ordeal. I could never do it."

"Me neither. To have to lie to everyone around you, even the people you love. But I pray for him, since he doesn't mean it. He has a good soul."

"Then I was right. You are not only the best of swordsmen, but the noblest one. The king must feel very safe when he has you on his Guard."

"I believe he does. But I don't feel safe at all. I feel my heart may burst out from my chest and fall into your hands at any moment."

There was a tear of joy in Aphrodite's gimlet eyes that she couldn't hide. She stayed with The Boy for no longer than an hour before she had return with haste to her father and escort him home. They would not meet again until the following week due to their respective obligations, though they would both have gladly neglected any and all of these obligations for the chance to see each other earlier. But it isn't the way of the world for people to dispose of everything in the interest of what they desire most, and so they agreed to be patient until the time came. They both knew in their hearts that love had blossomed over the valley that afternoon and would stand the test of time.

In the interim between the pair's two encounters, which were the events by which The Boy measured the passage of time in those days, two major events, or rather processes, took place. The first was the prince and The Boy's installation in the king's royal Guard. As their names preceded them in the entire kingdom, they were quite readily accepted by the other members as the new Captains. The daily processions, group training and especially mastering the art of horseback riding took up the vast majority of their time. Their thoughts, however, weren't with their fellow members of the Guard but with the same enchanting girl.

The Boy made new plans for his next encounter with her every day, then told them to the prince and consulted him. The prince, who was the older of the two and the only one with previous romantic experience, was patient in lending a friendly ear and generous in distributing sound advice. Both were equally valuable to The Boy but were of little value to the poor prince. For he, too, had long fallen under Aphrodite's spell but was never graced with the same golden opportunity that had been dropped into The Boy's lap either by a certain mischievous Cupid. But during their frequent discussions about her The Boy spoke from his heart rather than his mind, and his heart didn't want to see the prince's despondency. It didn't want to see anything but the image of him and Aphrodite together, and the prince didn't dare corrupt the joy of these images. And so it came to be that each of the two kept a secret from the other, each for his own distinct reason.

The Boy could hardly contain his excitement on the day of his scheduled meeting with Aphrodite. It was an unusually cold, cloudy day with a notably sullen sky but to him this was such a trivial detail that he didn't even notice it. To him this was the brightest day of his life and only a catastrophe to the extent of the end of the world could change it.

When Aphrodite appeared behind the bell tower, The Boy realized that he'd dreamt of this scene in a whole variety of different versions. Clad in his regal Guard uniform with the blue feather that marked his distinguished rank stuck in his hat, he couldn't afford to let loose his emotions, so he held himself back and merely smiled at the object of his dreams. But almost at once he noticed that there was something terrible in Aphrodite that was never present in any of the versions in his dreams, and he ran to her with a sunken heart and a flailing blue cape.

The passionate luster he'd expected in her face was substituted for a dull, sallow expression of distress. Almost momentarily, his own features mimicked this disagreeable condition.

"My dear Aphrodite!" He cried painfully. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Oh, something terrible has happened!" Her pain was even greater. She took his hands, noting his incredibly handsome, prince-like appearance but too distraught to comment on it.

"Tell me. Tell me now, and if there exists in this world a way to put things back in order, I shall find it."

"But I don't know if there is. You see, I was so excited last night for our meeting that father immediately noticed I wasn't my usual self. I tried to avoid him but he insisted to be informed of the reason for my behavior. So I told him. I told him about us, and he went off on a terrible fit. I've never seen him so furious before. I pleaded with him but he wouldn't hear it. He's forbidden me from every meeting you in private again. Sometimes a father can be crueler than the devil himself!"

"And yet you are here", The Boy said curiously.

"He approved it. He is a rational man, don't forget. He agreed that it would be dishonorable to simply leave you here without informing you of the developments. But it's all he agreed to, and I he will be waiting for my return. I can't bear it, believe me. But… I couldn't disobey him!"

"I have waited for this day since… it seems like forever."

"It can't have been more than half as long as my wait."

"What does your father say? Why has he made this harsh judgment?"

"It's because you come from the south. He says he won't allow his only daughter to build a relationship with a poor boy."

"A poor boy? But I'm Lieutenant of the King's Guard-"

"Yes, he's aware of your status. But he claims it doesn't change who you are. It doesn't change where you come from."

"But you worry too much, my darling. I will make an appointment to speak with your father at his earliest convenience and convince him that he's misjudged me, and that I'm a worthy contender for his daughter's golden heart. If the Lieutenant of the King's Guard can't reverse such an injustice then there is truly no future for our kingdom. I will take care of it, dearest, and we shall be together again. It'll be over quicker than you can imagine!"

Aphrodite's departure could be delayed no longer, and rather than take The Boy's hand and disappear together into the valley as she yearned to do, she said goodbye. The Boy's confidence that he would set things right did wonders to allay her distress, and so the stinging sensation in her heart as she disappeared around the tower became bearable. The Boy, however, was in a state of despair. Not only might he lose the girl he loved, but he would have to face her obstinate father and somehow convince him of- well, he wasn't sure what. His display of great aplomb before Aphrodite had been a deceptive façade meant to lull her into a false sense of security that he didn't share with her. He was, after all, just a boy from the south, and how could a boy from the south stand up to the dignified, erudite Mr. Parthons? What would he say? Fortunately there was a loyal, capable advisor waiting for him at home. And no one but the prince had the power to save The Boy's dignity and, more importantly, his love.

His meeting with Mr. Parthons came quickly, just as he'd promised Aphrodite. He arrived at the family's house, or rather mansion, armed with many hours of consultation with the prince but still very nervous. What man, let alone boy, wouldn't be nervous in the face of a verbal battle whose stakes were almost as high as the stakes on the battlefield of war? He was encouraged by the respect with which Mr. Parthons, on whose cheeks and head first signs of the white that comes naturally with old age began to sprout, regarded him. But there was a gap between showing a man respect as a dialogue partner or a warrior, and as the suitor of one's daughter. And this was the gap The Boy had to bridge, or else life would lose its sweet taste and become simply a certain span of time in which he happened to be alive.

After a customary exchange of pleasantries that meant nothing and was in fact quite a waste of time for both parties, The Boy addressed the painful matter first. He stuck to the lines he'd rehearsed with the prince, and he especially followed the general strategy the prince had suggested: honesty and confidence. He was to show his skeptic his true self and trust that his many strong points and various virtues would suffice to convince Mr. Parthons to overturn his verdict.

"If there is anyone in this kingdom worthy of the girl's love, it's you, brother", the prince had assured him without allowing any semblance of the intense pain he felt leave his afflicted heart. Few are the people who can imagine the profundity of the heartache experienced by a man instructing another how to conquer the heart of the girl they both love. The Boy had noticed that the prince always refrained from stating the Aphrodite's name, which was a curious thing but not important enough to be inquired into at the time.

Just before he set out on his fate-deciding verbal defense The Boy decided to add a sly touch to the prince's strategy by way of catering to Mr. Parthons' misguided whims.

"Mr. Parthons, you're right to question the legitimacy of a southerner's courting your daughter. It's nothing but healthy fatherly instincts and a true understanding of the kingdom's ways to challenge such an unusual occurrence. It is a great comfort to me to know that the lovely Aphrodite has such a father watching over her."

"Then you agree that it would be imprudent for me to allow her to indulge her youthful whims and answer to your inappropriate courtship", The Boy's rival said bluntly, apparently unmoved by the affected flattery. His small dark eyes didn't stray from the boy's, trying to force him to surrender by virtue of their authority alone. He was a tall man, easily taller than The Boy, and he had intentionally put on the distinct black doublet worn only by the king's senior advisors. This countered the air of power and dignity possessed by The Boy's uniform of the Guard.

"On the face of it yes, sir. But one mustn't forget that I've spent many years, and indeed my most important ones, in the midst of royalty. Look at me today, speak with me, even duel with me; send the king himself to assess my manners, and you will see not a boy from the south but a man of rank and dignity. For Heaven's Sake, the king has charged his own security in my hands along with those of his own son." The Boy spoke with passion and pride that would put to shame the finest lawyers pleading for the release of an innocent prisoner. But Mr. Parthons was no amateur in matters of oratory, and was a strong, bendy branch in the face of the fiercest of winds.

"I'm well aware of your many accomplishments, young man. And yet one can do nothing to change one's origins. Not even an official decree from the king himself would alter the fact that you have come from south of the woods, and your blood is forever southern blood."

This ruffed The Boy's pride and fired great wrath inside him. He was about to lash out at Mr. Parthon's for his bigotry but caught himself just in time to realize that so doing, while noble and just, would be detrimental to his cause. So here's how he responded instead:

"Again we see eye to eye, sir. You may put a crown on the head of a fool, but he won't become a king. I don't deny my birthplace. But bear in mind these two things: first, that my father is perhaps the finest carpenter in the kingdom. You've perhaps heard his name before, and know that it is no typical southern blood that runs through his veins."

"Yes, of course", Mr. Parthons mumbled thoughtfully. The Boy finally felt that he was making headway with the stubborn man, and in order to strike the iron while it's hot peppered his next argument with a pinch of fiction. (It's widely known that a pinch of fiction tends to greatly enhance a dull point of truth).

"Secondly, technically speaking I wasn't born in the south. I was born in the forest, sir. In the northern part of the woods, actually."

"Is that so?"

"Very much so, sir. My father was escorting mother back from the doctor's when… oh, but a man of your status hasn't time for my petty tales. But you see, sir, since it's long been established that an infant's birthplace carries great weight with regards to his destiny, it's certainly a very vague determination to consider me a southerner. But of course there was no way for you to know these things until now, so you were in the right to make your determination at the time."

"Hmm. You raise an interesting point, young man. And yet one thing you'll not be able to account for."

"What's that sir? I can think of no such thing."

"Ah, but there are many things that transcend a boy's range of insight", Mr. Parthons declared smugly. You are a puerile fellow in the field of romance, and you are several years my daughter's junior. It's unbecoming for a young woman of her status to be taken by an inexperienced boy."

'So it appears it's not my origin that troubles you', The Boy thought. 'You're just shooting in the dark for a reason to deny me. You're not the honest man you lead people to believe, sir. But slyness is a great friend of mine, and trying to team up with her against me will only lead to your defeat.' And with this he became doubly determined to outwit the king's knavish advisor.

"Am I to understand that what suits the king isn't sufficient for you?"

"Oh no, most certainly not", Mr. Parthons blurted out, suddenly flustered by the grave implication.

"I'll have you know, sir, that I'm not as young as you think. I'm hardly younger than your daughter, actually. And as for my romantic experience, well, you are under the misconception that I lack it only because a gentleman never tells. The right conclusion isn't that I lack experience, but that I'm a gentleman that doesn't make his experiences known."

"That is a most fitting conduct", Mr. Parthons mumbled under his breath. Having run out of ammunition, he accepted his debacle and resultantly declared to his rival and his daughter's lover that he would lift his prohibition on their relations and send his daughter to meet him the next day. A more jubilant victor has never left a battleground, verbal or otherwise, than The Boy making his way back to the palace. He advanced at a trot, eager to share the sweetness of victory with the prince. For victory isn't half as sweet when it's tasted alone.

But The Boy's thorough rapture was curbed when faced with the prince's reaction to his glorious success. One must bear in mind the suffering borne by the prince every time he was told his assistance had furthered The Boy's pursuit for Aphrodite's heart. Therefore even his pure intentions and great forbearance weren't impervious to failure, and it was inevitable that his pain would be betrayed even to the preoccupied and unsuspecting Boy.

"What's the matter, my friend? Are you ill?" The Boy cried, feeling as much sympathy for the prince as he did for himself. After all, it's no small sacrifice to have to extinguish the fire of excitement in one's heart when its flames are at their tallest.

The prince shook his head glumly.

"But you've heard my news. What could possibly be so terrible as to supersede your happiness for my success?"

The prince lifted his eyes from the floor and leveled them timidly at The Boy's. His expression was steeped with apology, and suddenly the bitter truth dawned on The Boy. He gasped sharply and said emphatically:

"It's Aphrodite, isn't it? Either you don't think her worthy of my efforts- but no, that's impossible. Only a fool would think it, and you are no fool. Then it has to be… is it true? You desire her?"

"I'm deeply sorry, brother, but it's true. I've tried to keep it to myself, but you see, now that you've caught onto it I can't lie to you." The Boy was utterly stunned by this confession, as though there hadn't been the slightest insinuation to indicate it before.

"What have you to be sorry for? No; it's I who should apologize. To think that her charm could possibly have evaded you-ha! It's preposterous, I realize it now. But tell me, what you feel for her- is it true love? Or just a random attraction, the kind young men are bound to feel for magnificent girls such as her? Don't hide anything from me, I beg of you."

The guilt in the prince's eyes deepened. "If what I feel for her isn't love then there must exist only hatred in this world. I wish it weren't so, but again I can't lie to you. I've loved her for years. It must've been before I'd ever met you that my heart first wandered off in pursuit of hers."

"Have you ever told her how you felt? Have you ever attempted to determine her state of mind, or rather state of heart, in the matter?"

The prince shook his head, his lips as thin and as narrow as though they were mere cracks on his face, serving no purpose of their own.

"But why?" The Boy wondered as though he found no sense in it. But the answer to his question was in fact as simple as can be: it was one of those many curious things in the world that had no answer. They happened without being explained, and had done so ever since people were cursed with such scourges as pride and hesitation.

"If only I'd known", The Boy muttered, realizing now more than ever how fortunate he'd been to have had such intimate contact with her the first time they met. It must've been orchestrated by the gods!

"But not all is lost for you, my friend", he continued. "I will investigate Aphrodite's feelings toward you and report them to you. I will be subtle and not expose your secret, don't worry. And if the beat of her heart matches yours, I won't stand in the way of a prince and a princess. She will be yours."

"You will do no such thing!" The prince protested halfheartedly. How dearly he wanted The Boy to do it! And yet it wasn't the right path to take, and he was obliged to object to it. "You will love her with all your heart, and if she returns your love- how could she not?- then your spirits will unite and my broken heart will heal through the knowledge of your endless happiness. It's now your right and your duty to do so, do you hear me brother?"

But the die was cast and The Boy was going to leave no stone no question unresolved and no foggy patches in the sweet land of love that three were now craving but only two could enter. "You've been too kind to me, and I wouldn't dream of trading your misery for my happiness. The other way around, perhaps. I will find the truth and finally relieve your regrets about her", he declared decisively. By now he'd forgotten of his recent grand triumph, and its place in his mind was filled by the conviction that his fairness toward the prince wouldn't entail as great a risk as it'd seemed. The prince had no firsthand knowledge of The Boy's relationship with Aphrodite, and therefore it was excusable that in the throes of a lost love he'd nurtured the wistful naiveté required to believe that she might choose him over The Boy whom she already loved dearly. He would settle the matter the next day and have Aphrodite's heart, as well as the prince's sincere support, in his hands.

Chapter 7

 

Many events of consequence were crowded in a short span of time in those days. In keep with this trend, the next significant occurrence took place even before The Boy's meeting with Aphrodite, which was now anticipated not by two but by three hopeful souls. It was a late morning hour and the members of the Guard were rehearsing their symbolic role in the queen's upcoming birthday party. Peaceful that the kingdom was, it was rare that the Guard was required to engage in combative action or even attend the kingdom's borders and its principal day to day role was merely symbolic. But of course one can't count solely on statistics and likelihood in matters of life and death, and therefore scouts were always on the watch around the borders.

On the day in question, an urgent message passed on by the scout posted at the northwest border was relayed to the Captain of the Guard with haste in the middle of a procession rehearsal. The prince hearkened the message with extra attention, this being the first such message since his installment. Even before he processed the information, he beckoned his Lieutenant and asked the messenger to repeat the message.

An outsider would say that the messenger was only a boy, but in fact he was at least two years older than The Boy. He was scrawny, tanned, and very light on his feet, which was a perfect combination for a long distance runner. He was still gasping for breath, and to produce any kind of vocalization required an inhuman effort of him. He mumbled something that The Boy couldn't comprehend.

"What did he say? Speak up!" The Boy ordered, and the poor messenger was forced to hold off his breath for another anguishing few moments. "Capitals forces have been sighted moving along the western valley, numbering at least two hundred strong", the exhausted messenger blurted out just coherently enough to be made out.

"Direction?" The prince asked importantly.

"Southbound."

"They're going for the terraces", the prince muttered thoughtfully. "I assume they're riding?"

"Of course, sir."

"We have little time, then. They ride well, and their horses never tire. We must make haste and intercept them before they've reached the fork in the river", the prince concluded briskly, looking at his Lieutenant for his opinion. The Boy merely nodded in consent and all one hundred of the members of the Guard were rallied and dispatched without delay.

Let us digress shortly from these latest developments in the interest of clarifying several terms which the readers would do well to recognize. First in both chronological order and order of importance are the Capitals. The Capitals lived beyond the mountains to the west, in the area's largest and wealthiest kingdom. They were at generally peaceful terms with our kingdom, but occasionally made attempts to gain access to more of the region's resources, often to our king's concern. You see, the kingdom wasn't particularly rich in certain natural resources and couldn't afford to compromise what it had. This leads us to the terraces, which were rice paddies grown on the slopes to the south of the western mountain range. They could only be grown in that part of the range, since elsewhere the slopes were too steep and couldn't be accessed. It was a well-known and much despised fact that the Capitals had their greedy eyes on the terraces, but so far their only advances in the matter were on diplomatic grounds. They would dispatch high-ranking officials to consort with our king and offer him peace, protection, and even gold in exchange for control of the slopes. But the king had always been steadfast in his refusal, since rice was among the people's favorite and most important food staple, and the paddies on the slopes were important sources for it. And since our king's first and foremost concern was his people's needs rather than being liked or making important friends, giving away the paddies wasn't an option.

This was the first time the Capitals had mounted what seemed to be an attempt to take control of the paddies by force. It's worth mentioning that by virtue of their superior size and especially their superior wealth, the Capitals had the strongest army in the region and their troops were much better equipped than ours. They had bigger, stronger horses, lighter cuirasses, maybe even sharper swords. Therefore an advance on the paddies two-hundred strong was cause for great concern.

Finally there's the fork in the river which the prince had designated as the Guard's destination. The river in question was the one that has been previously described, which runs from north to south along the valley, and which the Capitals had to cross if they wished to reach the paddies. Fortunately for us, even now that the river was relatively calm, it was too wide and deep to cross and the current was still dangerous strong. Therefore the first point where the Capitals could hope to cross over to our side of the river was where the river forked into too thinner, shallower and calmer streams. This was at the very south of the kingdom's western border, and fairly close to the paddies. And since it's a much more feasible task to repel the advance of an enemy before he has reached his destination than to drive him away from the destination already settled in, the fork in the river was the key point.

Now that light has been shed on the focal points of the setting, we may return to the events where we left off.

The Guard compensated for its slower horses and for being caught off guard with tremendous will power and a great sense of urgency, and reached the fork in the river before our enemies. They stopped there without crossing, so that the two streams would serve as buffers, though narrow, from the superior advancing forces. But the Capitals were already within range of sight, and many of the Guard's members for whom this was the first time to see a Capitol soldier, including the Captain and Lieutenant, were awestruck. The Capitals advanced as a formidable unit, the thin metal covering their bodies glinting in the sunlight and their horses draped with fine red fabric, on which their trademark coat of arms of a blue shield dotted with white stars impressed any onlooker. They marched with terrific precision, two hundred warriors united in silence except for the click clack of the horses' hooves on the grassy plain. It was very clear that they were well aware of their significant advantage over their enemies, and that they wouldn't hesitate to make the most of it. They were famous for their noble etiquette, but also infamous for their mercilessness in battle.

The clinking of metal told of the fear that gripped many among our ranks, who couldn't for all the shame in the world suppress their trembling. The Commander of the Capitals, a large, burly man riding a massive horse that seemed also to be charged with the winds of war, distinguished himself from the others and marched ahead after they'd come to a stop. He stopped a few horse-lengths' way in front of the others, and the prince did the same.

"Prince Conan!" The fierce Capitol bade with great excitement and no fear. With metal covering most of his upper body and the glare of the sunlight beaming down on the valley, little could be made of his features other than what has already been set forth. His arrogant demeanor suggested that he, too, was much closer to his youth than to old age. "Congratulations for the appointment. I see the king has found a curious way of forcing you out of the palace." A roar of laughter issued from behind him, shooting out from one hundred ninety nine reveling throats though only the first few rows of soldiers could possibly have heard his remark.

"Prince Dansalot! Your swords shine bright and your horses are well-cared for, but it seems you've lost your compos. Here, have mine. Use it well so you will avoid finding yourself in a rut like this one in the future", our prince retorted, and he fished out his compos and tossed it to the ruffled Dansalot. Our Guard was so pleased by its prince's poise and wittiness (we will refer to the one hundred valiant warriors composing our Guard as a single being, as for the time being only by acting as a single unified entity did they maintain the courage to stand their ground), that the laughter that emanated from it was twice the volume of the Capitals'.

But Prince Dansalot wasn't one to take an insult, and he flung our prince's compos into the river and cast him a deadly look.

"Let's test if your sword is as sharp as your tongue!" He snapped, and with a single elegant, lightning speed motion and a sharp hissing sound his sword was unsheathed and pointing across the stream at our prince.

But our prince, though young, was neither rash nor proud, and didn't yield to the temptation of obliging his counterpart's pointless challenge. "Enough with the show. What is it you seek here? Surely this isn't an attempt to take our rice paddies by force?" He said pointedly instead. Several of the Capitals sent sidelong glances to the slopes on their left, where the paddies stood dry and empty. This was the low cultivation season, therefore there was no activity in the paddies.

"What are these allegations you make against us? I'd be more prudent if I were you. You know, prince, words can be far more scathing than the pointed edge of a sword. We're on a reconnaissance mission that has nothing to do with your little rice fields, so I suggest you clear out of or path at once. Or do you wish to challenge a peaceful army twice your size and thrice your strength?" This plea of ignorance on Dansalot's part was of course counterfeit. In theory he could openly declare his intentions and easily force his way through the Guard, as his assessment of the balance of power between the two armies was quite realistic. But to do so would be a brutal act unbecoming of a cultural empire and of Capitol's famed rules of etiquette. And where better to test one's moral standards than in the battlefield, where they are most easily disposed of? But in his characteristic roundabout way, Dansalot wished to leave our prince with a choice between two evils: either clear the way and surrender the paddies, or stand his ground and accuse the Capitals of aggressive intentions without proof. If our prince chose the first evil, the Capitals will have occupied the prized paddies without the use of violence, and would only have to protect themselves if our Guard dared attempt to drive them away. In essence it's just as much an act of violence as initiating an attack on the Guard, but not so in appearance. In appearance it will have been the Guard's decision to attack, and the spilling of blood imputable to them. And in those times as well as in any other, essence was important only where appearances were inconclusive.

If our prince chose the second evil and obstructed the Capitals' progress without proof of their evil intentions, the latter would be perfectly justified to attack, then take the paddies as the spoils of victory. And so it seemed that not Dansalot but our prince was in a rut, and if he didn't do well to pull out of it not only the paddies he would lose not only the paddies but the lives of his Guard. For the first time that morning and perhaps for the first time since he could remember, our prince was vanquished by that mortal enemy of all soldiers and most men, fear. Being untrained in taming it, the he didn't do well to disguise his state of mind and invited more of Dansalot's audacious wiliness.

"I see you aren't prepared to make decisions on the lives of your soldiers, prince. But I don't blame you, for I was no better when I was your age. On the contrary- I praise your humility! Out of sympathy I propose this: go back to your father and tell him that his confidence in you was excessive. Take your Guard with you and we shall forget this little skirmish of ours. Knowing the king as I do, he will applaud your sincerity and surely reinstate you when he sees you are truly ready."

Detecting his friend's plight, The Boy took courage and prodded his horse forward so they formed a unanimous front against the imperious Dansalot. There was such silence among the two armies that it seemed the valley would've been noisier if it were empty. The prince didn't take long to consider his enemy's proposal before responding:

"Here is my counter offer: turn around and ride your beautiful horses home. Tell your king that you ran into a dogged prince who was so deranged he wouldn't clear his Guard from your path and was willing to shed the blood of a hundred only to obstruct your innocent enterprises. Explain to him that you swallowed your pride and turned back so as to spare a pointless bloodbath. No doubt the king will award you the golden star that's the height of your desires. Do it now and I will try my best to hold my men back from charging you from behind."

The Boy was stunned. The Guard were stunned. Prince Dansalot was stunned. Even our prince was stunned by his own audacity. There was very likely no man in the entire region who would've dared take such a tone with Prince Dansalot, especially when he was backed by his terrible army. Again an ironic silence fell upon the valley as the Gods debated on whether our prince's outrageous remark would go down in the history of the kingdom as courageous and brilliant or reckless and catastrophic.

"So God is my witness, I will not leave a single one of your men alive-" an infuriated Dansalot began, but was boldly interrupted by his lieutenant, who spurred his horse forward and called his attention.

"Don't disturb me when I address this savage!" His commander ordered. But the lieutenant, who was well familiar with the prince's bouts of rage and his empty threats, wasn't deterred. It took a wise man to know that steam emitted by a short-tempered man wasn't as dangerous as steam from a normally calm, cool one, and the Capitol lieutenant fit the bill.

"Sir! I have a suggestion", he insisted, and the two consorted shortly. Dansalot immediately became pleased with his lieutenant, and adopted his wise proposal. He pulled away even as the lieutenant was still speaking and said: "Prince! I bear no animosity toward your loyal Guard, which follows you despite your rash and uncultured behavior. And since there is no reason for your Guard to pay the ultimate price for your foolishness, I offer you a way to redeem yourself to them."

"Oh?" The prince said, never discounting the patient lieutenant's favorable sway over Dansalot.

"A duel. I will give up the critical advantage of my army over yours and we will cross swords, prince against prince. If you emerge victorious, my army will turn back at once. If I win- well, your men must retreat, and I will have my servant carry your head around as a personal trophy and a warning for any fool that dares dishonor me as you have done. So you see, prince, you can no longer save your head, but at least you can spare the lives of your men."

This new alternative a varying effect on the Guard. Some of the men found it abusive of their prince's honor and therefore a personal insult and buzzed in protest. Others were too hopeful of the prospect of not having their last breath squeezed out of them in the valley for no especially good reason to object. The most emphatic response was the Boy's. Well aware of Darsalot's reputation as a master swordsman without equal and doubtful of the prince's chances to survive a duel, he urged his friend to call his enemy's bluff. (The prince's skills, though they'd been honed considerably since their duel several years earlier and made him decidedly one of the kingdom's finest swordsmen, were still overrated). Honesty, our boy knew, was a highly overrated virtue, and wasn't commonly found in either ordinary men or members of royalty. There was little reason to believe Dansalot possessed it.

As a true leader does, the prince took note of the response of his men and paid particular attention to that of his Lieutenant, but finally made the decision according to his own considerations.

"I accept", he said, quite to the astonishment of at least half the men present. "But since I'm about to enter into a pact that will affect not only the King's Guard but my entire kingdom, I wish to put forth a stipulation of my own."

"Let's hear it. But I warn you, prince, don't be greedy."

"Greed is only for those who have much, which our kingdom doesn't as you very well know. It's not greed but reason that drives me, and here is my condition: as much as I would love to feel your soft flesh against the edge of my sword and see your blood stain my blade, you must replace yourself for your second best swordsman. Wait- hear me out before you refuse. I will replace myself with my second man, and thus the fairness of the duel will not be violated. The reason this adjustment must be made- and I assure you I regret it no less than do you- is twofold." At this point prince Dansalot tried to cut our prince off with a barrage of insults and a menacing gesture with his sword, but our prince enjoyed the momentum that was now his and completed his speech.

"First, since we are the ones making this agreement, it's only logical that we both stay alive to make sure it's fulfilled. My men I don't suspect, of course, but if I were to stick your head on my sword, who's to say that your duplicitous soldiers wouldn't suddenly forget of our agreement and have a change of heart? I must keep you alive to hold you accountable, and without the prospect of beheading you there remains little appeal in having a duel at all to me. Secondly- and I'm aware of the selfishness of this statement, but what's wrong with a prince looking out for himself?- I fear that once your father were to hear of your death by my doing, he will set out on a personal vendetta against me. Now, your ill-will I incur with pleasure, but not the king's! So it's really out of respect for your king that I demand the switch be made. Your second against mine; give your consent and we shall have it over with this very moment." This masterful delivery, coated with just the right amount of sugar, couldn't be refused even by the eager, complacent Dansalot. He gave his reluctant consent and summoned a soldier from the front row, who fearlessly dismounted from his horse and answered his commander's call avidly. He had his hand on the hilt of his sword as he walked, as though aching to draw it and cut in half his unfortunate rival.

The Boy was extremely pleased with the prince's maneuver, and whispered lofty accolades in his friend's ears. It was, in fact, a genius device on the prince's part: as far as he knew he was posing a far better swordsman than himself against a far weaker rival that Dansalot.

"Thank you, brother. Look at these cowards! You must give them a show they won't forget. Dansalot's second- ha! I'm going to enjoy this a great deal. Oh, father will be so proud! But all the same, don't take it too lightly. And remember Mr. Musashi's words: a true swordsman doesn't fight with his arm; he fights with his heart", said the prince, at which point the harsh truth dawned on the poor boy.

'I'm the prince's second', he thought with a shudder. 'He made this whole maneuver because he believes I'm a much better swordsman than he, and should easily crush my opponent. But the bitter truth is just the opposite!' The Boy remained stiff on his horse, unresponsive to the prince's call.

"Lieutenant!" The Prince bellowed, and The Boy's feet slipped out of their stirrups of their own accord. His body and his mind were now in two separate, the first marching toward the stream to face his opponent and the other whirling with fear and self-reproach. After all, there was no one to blame for his sudden downfall but himself. In a matter of minutes he would lose not only his life but his dignity, and with it he would disgrace the prince and the king. Unless the Gods weighed in in his favor.

'Is this the time for me to confess?' He thought despondently. It was the most unpropitious of times to do so, in fact, but it's often the last chance to seize an opportunity that's also the least propitious. 'I can come clean now, perhaps in private with the prince. I might save my life physically, and perhaps retrieve our chances for victory. But I would lose everything of value to me, and in effect have no life. And my love! I would lose her! It's much better to die than to live with such pain and shame.'

"Boy! Face me, you coward!" A croak of a voice rattled his eardrums. His opponent, almost twice his size, was panting with bloodlust. The Boy couldn't comprehend this eagerness to bring about the death of another, but it was in fact as natural in some men as it was for vultures to circle the sky in wait for a fresh carcass. The Boy leveled his eyes at the sturdy swordsman's, and read in them a terrible hatred that would alone get the better of him in a duel. He wondered how long he would last against this beastly thing, wishing only for a quick and painless death.

"So this is the poor boy whose skills with a sword have brought him glory and turned his fate", Dansalot said smugly, as though this could be no more than an urban legend. "They say whenever he has his sword in his hand he can't be killed."

'So they know me', The Boy thought with a sudden spark of hope and courage. 'In that case perhaps I can use my reputation in my benefit.' Of course they knew him, as, unlike nations and men, rumors aren't bound by borders, rules or politics.

"It seems you would've been better off staying in your village and working the fields, boy", Dansalot continued. Then, addressing the man who was about to become our boy's killer but speaking loud enough to be heard anywhere in the valley, he added: "Hartlus! Show this boy how we treat one who has overstepped his limits!" Another roar of support erupted from the heart of the Capitals' formation.

And that was when our boy realized his final and only chance of saving himself. 'I'll use their scorn of the poor to our advantage', he thought. 'It'll be an outrageous undertaking, but if it fails I shall soon die anyhow, so what's another minor bruise to my ego?'

Indeed, there was nothing at which he excelled more than wriggling his way out of tight spots, regardless of whether it required him to arouse outrage and trample codes of decorum. And this now was just about as tight a spot as he could've wedged himself into. Why, then, not count on his brilliant cunning ability rather than his poor swordsmanship to extract himself out of it? That he would undermine the prince's authority and put the life of a fellow Guard member in danger was a sacrifice he was more than willing to make.

He took a very deep breath, as for some reason a great amount of oxygen increases our capacity for courage, and laid out his little plot:

"Ahoy, prince Dansalot! That's a fine horse you ride. Now that I see from up close I realize that it's the finest I've ever laid eyes on."

Dansalot, who thought himself far superior to our prince, was infuriated at having been addressed by a petty boy that wore the feather of Lieutenant on his hat. But his fury was somewhat diffused by the flattery.

"Of course it is. Your little kingdom could never sustain such a fine animal. I could bring in more gold coins for it than I could for your paltry life, I'm sure", Dansalot replied with his complacent grin. He was a fairly handsome man, The Boy realized, and with his pompous air and legendary reputation surely had his way with the women of his kingdom.

The Boy was solid as a stone in both voice and demeanor, which was made possible since he was for the moment not himself. He was a confident, bold, resourceful Lieutenant who was bargaining a deal rather than begging for his life. And at present the bold Lieutenant decided it was time to add a dash of provocation to the brew. By so doing he would jar Dansalot's nerves, and jarred nerves make for rash decision.

"Yes, you're probably right. And that's why I propose the following. Since you have the better horses and we the better swordsmen, let's make an exchange to level out the battlefield. I will substitute myself for our number three, and he will duel against your uncouth Hartlus here."

"Ha! Your number three?" Dansalot and Hartlus blurted out as one.

"Patience, gentlemen, for only a fool passes down rash judgment. In exchange for so tipping the odds in your favor, you will raise your stakes. If you win, nothing has changed. But if you lose, you dismount from your horses. All of you. The horses stay with us and you, gentlemen, return to your kingdom by foot." From this point forward The Boy had but to commit his hopes, and with it his life, to the Gods and pray for a favorable outcome to his daring venture. 'I've learned my lesson', he vowed silently. 'Allow me this small miracle, and I shall never perverse the truth again.' But before ingratiating the God's, there was a certain prince Dansalot's to be reconciled.

"What! Do you play us for fools? Is this the kind of man you join to your ranks, prince? Accept your fate, boy, and die as a man on the battlefield!" He raved. He seemed on the point of renouncing the whole arrangement and leading his army straight into our Guard.

Our prince was almost as outraged by The Boy's irreverent temerity. He would've been completely in the right had he beheaded his Lieutenant on the spot and apologize to the enemy for the dishonor, but it wasn't for our noble prince to keep up appearances at the cost of being forgiving to his men. And in this case it wasn't a random one of his men which required special sympathy, and not even just his Lieutenant.

'If The Boy has acted so blatantly contrary to what was expected of him, there must be a very good reason for it', he thought. And since he couldn't even imagine any reason good enough, he concluded that there was something The Boy knew that he didn't. Then, in a moment of trustfulness that exceeds what we've established as due conduct for a leader, that is placing blind trust in the judgment of another, he ordered The Boy to mount his horse.

Our terrified boy turned and cast the prince a plaintive glance. 'What will he do with me? Maybe he's going to put me in the hands of our enemy as punishment for my disobedience', he thought dismally. 'And how can I blame him? I've taken a high stakes gamble and I've lost.' He didn't make so bold as to question the prince's call again, and obediently climbed his horse. But to his astonishment, the prince's next move was to call Gladius, who was considered an excellent swordsman, exceeded in the whole kingdom only by the prince and The Boy.

"Prince! What is this?" Dansalot roared, fuming. Gladius balked halfway between our prince and the rest of the Guard, deterred not by Hartlus' sword but by Dansalot's wrath. But our prince exhorted him and was soon in the same spot The Boy had been.

"See here, Dansalot", our prince said with such poise and confidence that it was truly difficult not to prescribe to his view at once. "We both know why you're here, and we both know that your plea of innocence is a ruse. An underhanded one that doesn't become an honorable soldier if you asked me, and in any case a ruse. Yet we both sit here in our saddles pretending to negotiate on authentic terms, as though no scheme had been hatched. I've so far indulged you with trust instead of suspicion; now it's your turn to return the favor and indulge my change of heart. Gladius, The Boy's second and my third, will fight your Hartlus. A prince setting forth his third against the mighty Capitals' second- who would believe it! Let us see if it's your men's ability to swing a sword or your horses' ability to carry your men that has created the halo of fierceness that follows you. Besides, The Boy is a fine swordsman but is shy of experience on the battlefield. Defeat our Gladius, and there shall be no doubts cast upon your victory."

"You have a quick mind and a slippery tongue, prince", Dansalot conceded with obvious discontent. For those with a taste for blood, blue blood spilled is always a greater cause for celebration than ordinary red blood spilled. The higher the rank of the fallen man, the better the blood. But this petty affair was consuming too much of his valuable time, so rather than drawing out the haggling he accepted the offer. Some of the Capitals snuck an uneasy glance at their horses, but for the most part they were also grateful to have the standstill broken. That the mighty Hartlus would yield to our prince's third was inconceivable and they were therefore safe in their saddles.

Before the duel began, our prince snuck a few words of motivation to his honorable and courageous warrior. The words were exchanged in complete privacy, of course, as it is an act of suicide to let one's mortal enemy in on one's inner psychology. Prince Dansalot scorned at his counterpart's behavior, seeing it as a sign of weakness to try and move the heart of a warrior with words.

"Gladius, are you afraid?" Our prince whispered.

"No, sir."

"You don't feel fear?"

"Oh, that I certainly do. But I'm not afraid, sir", said our warrior earnestly. There was fire in his eyes, and he possessed the kind of respect one should feel toward an equal enemy, or in other words toward any enemy, as all enemies are equal until the battle has begun, just as all men are equal before God at birth.

'This is a man who knows a thing or two about war', thought the prince. "They say this Hartlus is an exquisite swordsman", he said shrewdly.

"I thought they said that about me."

"So they do. Have you thought up a plan of how to compensate for his significant advantage in size?"

"You make a common error, sir. It is he who must compensate for his larger dimensions."

"Oh?"

"Of course. You see, everyone notices the difference in size between us, and the advantages it confers him, most of all he. But few take into consideration the various advantages that I enjoy thanks to my smaller size, least of all he."

"Such as increased mobility and a larger target to hit", our prince observed comprehensively.

"Such as, sir. As a result, while I shall gauge my situation without bias, my enemy will very likely overestimate his chances. And if there's anything more valuable going into battle than having unfavorable chances, it must be overestimating your favorable chances. So I don’t complain about my odds."

"You're a wise man, Gladius; make it count. Good luck."

"I will do all that can be done. I hope it shall suffice to win your applause, sir", said our humble warrior and made his way back to the stream.

"You already have it ", the prince called after him.

This little episode was the final one in the sequence of events that put off the duel. Currently the two swordsmen, having been cleared a sufficient expanse of land in the Capitals' side of the stream, were assessing each other with swords drawn. They started by going in circles, as certain scavengers circle the sky over land where blood is about to be spilled. Hartlus was first to strike, but by the time his thick arm came down Gladius had already skipped out of reach.

Among our Guard The Boy was the most optimistic as regards our chances, and perhaps also the most desperate for a victory. His calculations were simple: on the face of it the two lives at stake belonged to the Capitals' number two and our Guard's number three swordsmen. Considering the Capitals' famed mastery of handling swords this should translate into a critical advantage against out Guard. But the truth, known only to him, was that Gladius was in fact the unrivaled, finest swordsman in the kingdom, which at the very least should even out the odds. He was counting on Gladius's speed and a slim intervention by the Gods to bring justice to the battlefield and due honor to the Guard.

But even he was surprised by how swiftly the larger and stronger man was brought to his knees. It happened after Gladius parried a presumptuous and awkwardly delivered vertical strike by his rival, finding himself facing Hartlus' entirely open left side. Without hesitation he delivered his first and only thrust, stopping his sword halfway through the large man's chest.

According to the rules of conduct applicable to duels in the time and place relevant to our story, a compassionate victor, having secured his triumph, leaves the vanquished to choose between mercy and death. Gladius' coaxing was required for his aching rival to opt for the first. He then slid his sword out of Hartlus' chest with one quick motion, helped him dress the non-fatal wound, and returned to his awe-struck Guard. No less coaxing on our prince's part was required for Dansalot to spare Hartlus' life and abide by the terms of their agreement and order his men to dismount from their horses and begin the long march back.

"Mark my words, prince: we shall meet again!" Dansalot snarled menacingly, thrusting his sword in the air in our prince's direction, before he turned and followed his vanquished army. This was no favorable development, as great swordsmen, be they virtuous or ignominious, were known to hold their word sacred. And Dansalot could be claimed to lack many qualities, but only a fool would deny his being a great swordsman. And yet in the thick of things our prince wasn't much troubled by it.

Such a glorious victory on behalf of our Guard was unprecedented in the memories even of the kingdoms' eldest. The lion's share of the glory was split between Gladius, the prince, and The Boy, each of whom had played his own distinct and indispensable role in the monumental success. Gladius, wise that he was, knew that glory doesn't come in fixed amounts and therefore didn't insist on receiving more than the other two, though one may argue that he was entitled to it in light of the division of labor between them. Their manner of embracing this glory was also distinct for each: Gladius basked in it for weeks to come, The Boy soon felt it mingle with the fluttering of his heart toward his meeting with Aphrodite and lift him to the clouds, and the prince tempered it so there would be enough space in his heart to contain both it and his heartache.

Chapter 8

 

There was no longer reason for The Boy and Aphrodite to keep the screen of discreetness over their meetings, but that day news of the Guard's encounter with the Capitals had already flooded the town, and if The Boy were spotted in a crowd he'd be swarmed at once and not allowed a moment of privacy. Therefore it was very fortunate that the meeting had been arranged to take place at the same scenic place behind the bell tower. He'd of course relieved himself of the burden of his uniform and put on the plainest clothes he could find in his wardrobe. His black cloak and wide brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes completed a satisfactory disguise.

Despite the day's dramatic events and the special ceremony to be thrown in honor of the Guard that evening by the king's order, The Boy was first to arrive at the rendezvous. Looking down at the valley, his eyes homed in on the exact spot where the miracle had taken place. It was humbling to ponder now how thin the line had been between tragedy and triumph. He was awakened from his musings by the sound of his beloved, who raced to him and covered him with kisses. She'd of course already heard of his heroism, and seemed to be no less ecstatic than he.

"The whole town speaks of you! What bravery, what genius", she sputtered uncontrollably. "Even father has admitted that he was a fool to have ever doubted you! I was afraid you might've forgotten our rendezvous." She was even more charming and lovely than usual, absorbing from the halo of glory that surrounded The Boy. The little ringlets resting on her shoulder were golden coils, her eyes priceless gems and her fragile body and manner immeasurably precious for their rarity and vulnerability.

"But how could I forget my heart?" Our boy said, feeling that he could jump over the cliff with her and fly over the valley. "It was the first thing I did once victory was ours to picture us standing here together. And in my vision- I should be thought foolish to even have dreamed something so sublime- we were just as we are now. What you do to my heart is equal to what our might Gladius did to that poor Capital."

If it was even possible, Aphrodite's increased still at her lover's gush of emotion. She then requested to receive a personal account of the events of the day that was already a legend in the kingdom, and was gladly obliged. For what man doesn't regale in relating the story of his own success?

The Boy told the story roughly as we know it to be, though from his point of view. His audience was hooked and reacted emotionally at every point where there was some foreseeable measure of danger involved, which the narrator rather enjoyed until the point of Dansalot's initial challenge. Naturally, none of the versions of the story that had been circulated in the kingdom contained much factual detail, and this was the first time Aphrodite had heard that Dansalot had proposed a duel with the prince. Her reaction was far more dramatic than before, and her terror in those moments must've exceeded what our prince had felt in real time in the darkest corners of his heart. She breathed in sharply and pouted in an alarming fashion, and the blood seemed to freeze in her veins. And this after it was all over and our prince was known to have commanded his Guard to safety and remain intact himself!

This egregious reaction brought back to The Boy's mind the thoughts that had disturbed him the night before but had been cleared away thanks to the morning's events and the exuberance that followed.

'The Prince loves her', he reminded himself, feeling his feet land back on solid ground. 'And I must find out her heart's true disposition.' He followed closely her every jerk of an eyebrow, twitch of the lips and variation in her breathing rate from the point of the prince's response to Dansalot's challenge until his own worming out from the duel against Hartlus. There could be no doubt that she was more concerned during the first part.

He delivered the rest of the story rather frivolously, as his role in the events had come to an end and struck the iron while it was hot.

"You seemed very concerned for the prince", he pointed out without giving away his intentions.

"Of course I was. To duel with Dansalot! They say there doesn't exist a man who has done it and not paid with his life."

"So they do. But you didn't look half as concerned for me."

"Do you take that as an insult, my love?"

"An insult! God forbid; your soul is too gentle to insult anyone. I was just wondering if my observation was correct."

"It was. But isn't it obvious? Wasn't it you who told me that between the two of you you are the much better swordsman?"

"That's not exactly what I said…" Our boy mumbled sheepishly.

"And you wouldn't have gone against Dansalot. I should think that if anything, this Hartlus was the one I should be concerned for."

'She has great confidence in me', The Boy thought contentedly. 'Much more confidence than I deserve.' But his suspicions had yet to be allayed, and under his growing reputation he felt some directness on his part wouldn't be inappropriate.

"It's come to my ears that- well, it couldn't be, but just the same I would like to have your response-"

"What is it? You may ask me anything."

"They say your heart has a certain special inclination to the prince."

"To our prince?" Aphrodite said, startled and flushing.

"To our prince, Captain of the King's Guard and something of an older brother to me." This time it wasn't necessary for our boy to scrutinize her reaction carefully, as even an outsider couldn't mistake the abashment in her demeanor. Her cheeks were now as red as the setting sun, and The Boy noted that their normal white was a much better fit.

"Wherever did you hear such an evil rumor?" She said uncomfortably.

"The source of the words doesn't matter; it's their content that counts. You have said that I can ask you anything. Well, my love, on the same token I invite you- no, beg of you- to tell me anything worth telling."

"I can't lie to you my love, but I would no sooner upset you."

"The only thing that would upset me is if you were to hide the tendencies of your heart for my sake."

"Even if they are something of the past and are of no concern of mine in the present?"

"Even so. Our present is nothing without our past."

"Very well then", Aphrodite said, her explicit and unambiguous words quite at odds with her general air of discomposure. She was obviously forcing herself into something she was reluctant to do. She even forced her regretful eyes to level at his. But she did it all for him. "It's true what they say. For many years after I'd first met the prince I felt a special affection for him. Though we seldom communicated directly, I quickly became very fond of him. For a long time I wished he felt the same and that somehow the Gods would be so kind as to let our hearts meet. I never thought I was worthy of him, of course, but you know how it's the way of young girls to dream of the impossible. It teaches us to accept what's real."

"That's not entirely surprising", The Boy chimed in. "Virtually every girl in the kingdom, even before his rising shine of late, dreams of having the arm of a prince like him crossed with hers-"

"No, it wasn't the same with me. It was never because he was a prince- not at all. He may as well have been a poor boy from the south- oh, forgive me, I didn't mean to imply-"

"All is well. Continue."

"In short, it wasn't his status or his clothes but his nature that enchanted me. He was humble, kind, never too flamboyant- but look at me, a silly girl telling you, the prince's own brother, of his wonderful nature! You know him ten times better than I."

"Perhaps. And now? What does your sweet heart tell you now?"

"Need you ask? My love is now for you and only you, my dearest."

"And the prince?"

"I've long ago accepted that it wasn't meant to be. It was merely a trick played on me by my heart. A cruel and tormenting trick, but nothing more."

"Do you ever look back in regret?"

"Heavens no! What would that bring but pain? I've hurt enough for that which will never be, now it's my time to rejoice at what is. In any case, you must promise me that you shall never repeat a word of what I've confided in you. Most of all to him!"

"Of course, my love. I wouldn't dream of it."

Finally the light returned to her face and the burden of her confession was relieved. The Boy, on the other hand, suffered an opposite effect. His brows were curled and his lips pursed, and his shoulders slouched as sometimes happens to one who's seen his optimism deceive him.

'I had higher hopes for this meeting', he thought somberly. 'She loves me- I'd never doubted that- but she has deep feelings for the prince as well. She only suppresses them because she doesn't know they are reciprocated.' He even had a terrible sense, which was formulated during those few candid moments in which she'd opened the darkest chambers of her heart to him, that her love for the prince had been purer and stronger than her current love for him.

This was the agonizing feeling with which he left her. There were preparations to be made for the evening's ceremony, and perhaps a little scheme to be plotted. Our boy had perhaps won a glaring victory in the valley, but he felt he'd suffered a terrible debacle on the battlefield of love. And even in his young age he knew that the second battlefield was easily the more fatal of the two.

Chapter 8

 

The ceremony, being a celebration of a military achievement, was held at the arena. Official ceremonies normally took place indoors and in any case were rarely held at the arena, but due to its symbolism as a place fit for combat it was the obvious chose in this case. Also it was the largest enclosed area in the kingdom, and there were very few people in the kingdom that didn't seize the opportunity to visit their heroes. Even the houses south of the forest were left empty that evening, news of the victory having traveled through the woods well before dusk had struck.

So not only the stone seats in the stands were packed, but the aisles and the narrow spaces between the rows of seats. Just about any space that could fit a human body was shared by two zealous spectators. In the haste of things there hadn't been time to adorn the scene with worthy decorations, but in fact it was for the better. It gave the setting a more authentic air, considering that true warriors aren't blinded by luxury and are attracted only by the prospect of honor and victory. It was one of those rare cases when the essence of the event struck such awe in everyone that no kind of embellishment was required. The only noticeable decorations were the golden trails left by the receding sun, and in this the sun did a great honor to the occasion.

At the center of the arena, where several years earlier the prince and The Boy had crossed swords as fresh acquaintances, stood the heroes of the day. Not just three, but a hundred of them. The Guard stood in perfect formation, impervious on the outside to the crowd's frenzy. But if there were some magical contraption that allowed us to see through this necessary façade, we would witness a far stronger whirl of emotions in these men's hearts than in the thousands around them. After all, a soldier can adhere strictly to certain codes and be prepared to sacrifice everything for the cause, but in the end every soldier is a man, given to the same temptations and weaknesses as are we all. Across from the Guard were two hundred first-rank horses, groomed to perfection and standing taller than the tallest man in the stands, the trophies of our men's victory. They were harnessed by the keepers of the royal stables.

For the first time in his long reign, our king stepped down from his royal seat at the very center of the northern arch of the stands to the central platform. It should be emphasized that, this being an arena, the platform was on a lower plane than the stands. Now, it is extremely unusual for a king to place himself at such a low point in front of thousands of ordinary men and women, but our king was willing to make this compromise so he could pay personal respect to his Guard. Our audience was very fond of this gesture, and since our king was aware and sensitive to the conscience of his people, he immediately knew he'd made a wise choice.

It was hard for him to speak over the delirious audience, but eventually he managed to impose silence and commence the ceremony. Our king wasn't a man of many words, and so his praise to the men was very pithy. It's a well-known rule that a secret weapon shouldn't be exposed at the very outset of a battle, and on the same token the king didn't begin with our three principal heroes but rather with the Guard as a whole. He spoke of their unity in the face of adversity and their commitment to each other. Indeed it was no small feat for the King's Guard that not a single man had fled the scene even when being slaughtered by the superior Capital army was a very real possibility. The crowd roared approval and the king moved on to the three champions, who were standing in a line in front of the rest of the Guard.

The prince was commended for his strategic finesse and flawless planning of the kind a very senior Captain would be acclaimed for. Perhaps the greatest honor of all for our prince was his father's declaring in front of the whole kingdom that he'd proved that his appointment had been a very wise one.

Our boy was handled by the king with almost the same affection as the prince. The king was gracious enough to honor our heroes with not only words but a great deal of physical contact. He pressed his hands firmly against The Boy's broad shoulders before stepping back so he could speak loud enough for the thousands to hear.

"Our young Lieutenant didn't cower in the face of a fierce enemy", he declared, showing that his understanding of the events was as imprecise as the members of the Guards'.

"I was in fact terrified beyond my wits", The Boy said under his breath.

"He demonstrated cool reasoning and terrific resourcefulness in favor of his Guard in moments of great stress and urgency", the king continued.

"You mean I was very cunning in favor of my life", The Boy corrected.

"And most of all, he demonstrated the kind of confidence in a brother Guardsman that will keep our kingdom safe in the face of any enemy as long as these men continue to fight for us."

"It was really a lack of confidence in myself more than anything else", our boy pointed out to nobody but himself.

The audience roared again, even louder now than for the prince. People love to root for the underdog, and in many senses our boy would always be considered an underdog. But in this case the underdog didn't return the same appreciation for the people that cheered for him. And why should he? They were only cheering because he'd done them a great service, if not for their security than at least for their pride.

'If the stands were filled with Capitals, they'd be scorning and hateful and even demand my head. They're merely thanking me for a great service I've done them, so I owe them nothing', he thought caustically. His scorn for the audience was the result of a feeling that he deserved more that what he got, which isn't to be confused with low spirits or self-deprecation. Similarly his mocking of the king's accolades was a demonstration that he saw things more clearly than anyone else- that he was better. This unfavorable state of mind was the result of his disconcerting encounter with Aphrodite, of course. He felt the prince could steal her from him at any moment, and even if he didn't he'd already tainted the purity of her love for our poor boy. He knew that her love for him was real, but it wasn't enough.

If we were, for the sake of comparison, to delve into the prince's deep inner workings, we would find an even greater detachment from the festivities. His moroseness was rooted in his thoughts of Aphrodite as well, and one might say that it was even less warranted than The Boy's. Nothing had really changed with regards his relationship with Aphrodite, and it was mostly the resurrection of buried pain that anguished him. Like a dormant disease that has never healed and suddenly strikes again. And in any case, the reason and common sense that we use to explain all other things in the world aren't applicable to affairs of the heart. Love, heartbreak, jealousy- they have a reason all their own, and not a very reasonable one.

This unfortunate distribution of sorrow between our two protagonists was about to be changed by The Boy, and he waited impatiently for the king's blessing of the ecstatic Gladius to do it.

The King's high words Gladius were the most expectable ones, but by no means the least significant. "It takes a true master of the art of swordsmanship to attain such a decisive victory over a rival as powerful as yours. And it takes a noble man to show mercy and spare the life of such a vile man as your rival." Here the audience's reaction was the most emphatic, not due to the King's words but simply because Gladius was the man who'd physically imported the victory from across the stream to our kingdom.

At the this the climax of the ceremony was behind us, and following were several processions, formalities and a short display in which the finest riders among our heroes mounted their new horses, flaunting their abilities to the avid audience. It was during this display that The Boy snuck a minute of privacy with the prince in order to settle their affairs. There were thousands of ears around them, but no more could they hear The Boy's words than their hearts could sense the prince's pain.

"I met her today", The Boy said.

"You met whom? Oh, you must mean Aphrodite", the prince said blandly, as though this weren't the one thing that had occupied his thoughts since their return from the valley.

"Yes, Aphrodite. I didn't reveal your feelings for her, of course, but managed to probe her heart for its tendencies toward you."

The prince said nothing. There wasn't a finding of The Boy's research that he could hope for with a clear conscience; the result he hoped for filled him with guilt.

Next our boy spoke even more softly, and he took on a low, dark, apologetic tone. "She respects you dearly. She sees in you a noble prince and would pledge allegiance to you willfully at any opportunity. But she doesn't love you, my friend."

This last sentences was all our prince needed to hear. Being a master of poker faces, his expression didn't change, but his heart stung as sharply as if Dansalot's swords had cut right through it. "It's for the better, brother. I hope I've done nothing to impede your relationship. Take the advice of a man with our broken heart- you know, our advice is of most valuable kind: cherish her love, make it the thing dearest to you in the world if it isn't already, and thank the God's for blessing you."

"I will. Thank you, my dear friend. I wish things could be different."

"But they can't", said our tormented prince, and the subject was never spoken of between them again. But there was another matter to be resolved then and there, if only formally.

"Why did you do it? I've been eager to ask you since this morning", said the prince. The Boy was oblivious of the prince's intention at first, but he felt he would do anything within his power to alleviate his friend's grief so he very eagerly solicited an explanation.

"Why did you want to put Gladius on the battlefield instead of yourself? I've tried to figure it out myself but apparently my mind is too simple to read yours", the prince clarified. The Boy realized that this was a very obvious question, which had slipped his mind in the throes of the day's tumultuous events. The King's version, that he'd done it out of exceeding trust in his fellow Guardsman, could be sold to the audience just as well as the version the prince had formulated for Dansalot. But the prince deserved a far better explanation.

"I wish you didn't ask me this, for I'm ashamed of it a great deal. But then again if there is anyone who's entitled to the whole truth, it's you."

The prince's features, worn by the effort of remaining neutral despite the heavy blow he'd just received, were now deadened. He stared at The Boy blankly, waiting for the answer. By the looks of it, it would have no impact on him whatsoever. Be it heaven or hell, his heart was in pieces. The Boy stared back, exuding pity for this shadow of a man.

'I would do anything my power to alleviate the grief I've cause you, my dear friend', thought our boy. 'But it's beyond my power to reveal to you the grim truth of the matter at the moment.' So instead he fabricated a pretext that would put him in a vulnerable position and therefore be plausible even to an observant, quick-witted prince.

"I was scared. It's like you said: I've never dueled before. Not for real. And it was such a paralyzing fear that if I'd gone through with it- well, I was afraid my skills would be damaged irreparably." The Boy's act was perfect since he didn't need to feign his apologetic demeanor, and if he were watching himself in the mirror he might've believed himself.

The prince put his hand on The Boy's padded shoulder. "You did well, brother. I would go to battle with you and that fear of yours any day."

And this matter, too, came to a conclusive end here and would never to be spoken of again.

Chapter 9

 

Many consider the months and the years that followed that landmark day to be our kingdom's heyday. The tale of our Guard's victory over the almighty Capitals flew over the mountains and weaved its way into the awe-inspired ears of every soldier in the region. This accorded our people great respect and our Guard a great force of deterrence, therefore trade with neighboring kingdoms thrived and no one dared cause the slightest disorder. It also fired our people with great pride that didn't wane, and made them more united than before. Fighting a common enemy, and especially triumphing over a common enemy, tends to have this effect on people. So in general the air was permeated with optimism and a general levity of spirit.

For members of our Guard these were even more favorable times. The Guard's old horses were sold at exorbitant prices, and half of it was awarded to the Guard members, split equally between them. The second half was used to build a monument for the three heroes beside the bell tower, which was to be known as 'Men of Steel'. This quickly became a favored site for family visits, and changed the scene of the adjacent courtyard, that even southerners started to frequent it on occasion. Gladius earned a reputation as a legendary swordsman, on par with the prince and The boy, and as owner of a heart of steel that could deflect the thrust of any sword. Our boy was famed to be a clever fox, not to be crossed despite his southern origins. And the prince established his seat at the head of the Guard, a leader of foresight who was consulted on any predicament that required exceptional leadership to be resolved. The people saw him as a future king whose subject any man would be honored to be.

At first thought it may seem that this remarkable effect was a bit extreme for a single isolated event to induce. But we must bear in mind that most significant changes begin to happen due to a single hard digression from the norm. Sometimes there follows a long process until the full effect takes place, but it's all traceable to one unusual event. Even many of our mighty mountains owe their height to momentary crashes between the earth's tectonic plates.

Yes, those were indeed golden days for everyone, but people tend to forget that even gold may lose some of its luster over time. You see, the glory of the victory was so brilliant at first that it flooded all the negative thoughts in people's minds. But petty worries and concerns are, like germs, very hard to kill and impossible to exterminate completely. And the daily troubles began to surface again slowly and to remind the people, and primarily our Guard members, that all roses grow thorns.

The one who tired the fastest of the spoils of the victory was The Boy. On days when training was light and he had no other engagement he would visit the courtyard under the pretense of having business to arrange there. The real reason for his journey was to absorb the adulation of the people and be pointed out to children as an exemplary soldier and an epitome of virtue. He would sometimes spend entire afternoons basking in the admiration of people twice or thrice his age, some so wealthy that they could buy the entire Guard. In fact he never had any business to arrange, there or elsewhere, and it just so happened that his pretense eventually became his heart's desire.

'A Lieutenant in the King's Guard shouldn't have all his stakes piled on the blade of his sword', he thought, and he decided to start doing business. 'My outstanding reputation should be of use to me almost to the same extent as it is in deterring my enemies on the battlefield. Being the son of a carpenter and later a resident of the royal palace, he'd had no interaction whatsoever with the world of business. But he knew all he needed to know: you must use the money you have to make even more money. And so the only obstacle that stood between him and success was that he had virtually no money. You see, in the palace he was provided his every need but had no possessions of his own. As for his service in the King's Guard, it was a well-known fact that the members of the Guard received their compensation mainly in the form of honor. They were housed, fed and clothed by the King, but their monetary income was quite scant. To make things worse for The Boy, the rate of the income was based on seniority rather than rank. And so underneath all the glamour, luxury and popularity, our boy was very poor in terms of his materialistic wealth.

So what our boy needed was money, and since as we've already seen he excelled at seizing opportunities, what he really needed at the moment was a mere opportunity to earn money. In order to get an opportunity, especially a golden opportunity like he was hoping for, he was in need of a stroke of luck. There were two ways he could meet a stroke of luck: he could go and search for one, and since there is always luck hiding somewhere, with enough persistence he should eventually find one. And there was the quicker way, which consisted of wooing the auspices of the Gods and having them send a stroke of luck his way.

The latter being the more efficient and easily accessible way of the two, he didn't hesitate much before opting for it. Since he was still indebted to the Gods and knew it was useless to ask for their assistance before clearing his debt, his first move on the way to wealth was to repent. For those of us lacking the sharp, solid memory of the young let's recall briefly the roots of The Boy's debt.

On the morning of the momentous encounter with the Capitals, while our frightened boy was waiting for the results of his outrageous attempt to save his skin, he'd asked the Gods to intervene on his behalf. He'd asked for a miracle that would allow him to keep hiding behind his lies, on the condition that he would never lie again. The miracle was granted (it was rather silly, he felt, to believe that the whole thing would've worked without divine aid), and yet he hadn't waited for the sun to set before lying to Aphrodite and later to the prince.

'Those were necessary lies', he thought, 'that adjusted the unfair truth so that it became more realistic. But even so, technically speaking I violated my oath and must therefore repent.' And there was no better form of showing repentance that praying at church, and in extreme cases confessing one's sins.

You may've already noticed that our boy wasn't a regular practitioner of religion, but he never renounced his faith in God. And he was especially devout when he required a particular favor or blessing. Being a very reasonable young man, he realized that for his current enterprise to bear fruit a special measure of kindness from above would go a long way, so he resolved to be unusually reverent. He was convinced that this was the best first step he could make on his short path to wealth.

He attended the church with his most humble attire and with a servile heart. It was an ordinary day at a time when the sun was still gaining strength in the sky, so the pews were almost empty. Churches are normally very lavish, but this one was old and simple, reminding the people that pain and glitter didn't mean stronger divine presence. There was another, far more opulent church not far from the palace, but The Boy feared some aristocratic acquaintances might see him there and become too curious of his intentions. In accordance with the ways of our world, the simple church was frequented mostly by simple people, and very few simple people had any personal relationship with The Boy. This didn't mean that they wouldn't recognize his face, as even the birds in the woods and horses in the stables were familiar with his far-famed features, but at least their deference to him would avoid any unwelcome nosiness.

When he entered the silence in the closed space was so deep that even his light steps on the paved floor echoed like thunders. There were five people in total inside, and they all turned to investigate the source of the unexpected noise. The Boy didn't return their gazes, and luckily in the soft candle light and limited sunshine filtering through the windows nobody seemed to recognize him. There was an old couple seated in the very front pew, and three other prayers seated in the first few pews, separated by long stretches of wood from one another.

'Good', thought our boy. 'They like their privacy, so they should respect my privacy as well.' Of course this was a rather faulty deduction, as the well-known rule that states 'Do to others what you want them to do to you' is golden rule, and like all golden rules is very difficult to abide by. But let's not forget that The Boy wasn't looking to commit a crime but to repent, and therefore there was no need to place too much suspicion in others.

So The Boy took his seat in one of the back pews, clasped his hands together and leaned against the back of the pew in front. He wasn't very fond of praying, and he was as averse as anyone to admitting his past wrongdoings, but once he reflected on his goal his reluctance vanished and his heart and soul rallied for the task. He prayed in a rasp, not silently as many people like to do since he thought it showed God he was more serious. An outspoken contract is always more valid than an implicit one, and why should there be any exception in the case of a contract with God?

"Dear God", he whispered into his clasped hands. "I have come here to- well, you know why I'm here. And we both know what I need to make amends for, so there is no need for me to repeat it."

A man with a tattered jacket and a scraggly beard sitting a few rows ahead of him turned his head halfway and snuck a glimpse at him. The rest of the prayers also took more interest in him than he would've liked, so he lowered his whisper to an undertone that even God should've had trouble making out.

"My regret for my sins is deep and authentic, as I'm sure you can tell. I give you my solemn word that I will keep regretting them after today and will refrain from repeating them. What I ask of you in exchange is meant for a good cause, so you have double the reason to oblige me! I've been a poor boy my entire life while others have bathed in golden water, and yet I have never uttered a word of complaint. I'm your humble servant, and all I ask is that justice be distributed between everyone. I will do with the money I gain the same kind of good that I've done with my sword, and so my wealth will be enjoyed by many. I'm not asking for much, and don't ask it for free. I pray you will bless me with your consent."

Many people have some misguided notion that they are obliged to remain at a church for a certain minimum amount of time. But once the purpose of the visit has been served, one's time is better spent elsewhere. God doesn't become lonely without the company of his prayers.

Before he stood and left, The Boy wondered whether it was misguided of him to have asked something in return for his prayers.

'Who am I to make conditions? I'm only a Lieutenant, yet He is the creator of all things!' he thought. But then he looked around him and realized, without knowing a thing about the other prayers, that they were all expecting something in exchange for their devoutness. Whatever they were praying for- that was the reward they were hoping for.

'Coming to church is just like doing business', he thought. 'And it's the best kind of business, because God never cheats.'

His doubts allayed and his mission complete, our faithful boy made for the door when something caught the corner of his eye that he hadn't noticed before. At the back of the church's main hall, just behind the last left pew, there was a remission in the wall that led to a small room that housed the Confessional. This, he knew, was the small enclosed booth where sinners (or in other words people) came to confess their sins to the priest. It wasn't surprising to find the Confessional empty at this time of day, but it was indeed surprising to see an object that seemed to be of value lying ownerless on the floor. The Boy's curious nature led him without indecision to the displaced object, which turned out to be a purse.

'Someone must've dropped it during a confession. Then, their minds lightened by the gift of absolution, they didn't notice its absence as they left.' The purse was small but heavy with the weight of certain clanking metal objects inside. It was made of a white fabric and had a black seal at the top, and it took some effort to be opened but yielded without breaking or tearing. It may seem like an uncivil act for The Boy to force open a purse that didn't belong to him and therefore must've belonged to someone else, but remember that there was nobody around and it was the only way to discover the identity of its owner.

But our boy discovered something far more valuable than the identity of the purse's owner: pure gold. Yes, the purse was filled with gold coins, which he could tell were authentic from their weight and smooth texture.

What were the odds of someone having lost such a valuable possession in a public place? And in a church! There was no conceivable explanation for it but one.

'Eureca! It seems God has already decided to complete His part of our deal', thought our animated boy. Now, you mustn't see in him an unreasonable dreamer, as he didn't believe God had simply conjured up a purse filled with gold coins for him to take. All he believed was that God had coaxed the owner of the purse to attend a confession that morning.

'The owner of such a valuable possession was surely reluctant to leave the purse unattended, so they took it along. Then God, perhaps through the priest, had made sure that the experience of the confession would be so emotional for the owner of the purse that they would drop their guard leave it behind.' This is how he traced the turn of events in his mind, and it led him to the conclusion that he would be right to take the purse and use its contents. You mustn't accuse him of thievery either, as his plans involved lending it at most.

'Once I've made my profit I will buy back a number of gold coins equal to what I've used, put them in this purse, and return the purse to this exact location. No, I'll add some extra coins as gratitude to the owner, in the way of interest paid on a loan.'

Thus strategizing, he carried the purse under his smock and stealthily made his way out of the church. He took a roundabout way back to the palace so that he didn't cross paths with any curious acquaintance, and once in his quarters he emptied the gold coins into an empty black bag that he often used to conceal gifts he bought for Aphrodite.

'Soon I will become much more generous in my gifts', he thought joyfully. Next he stashed the purse in the corner of one of his wardrobes, where nobody would ever find it. It's not that he was doing anything wrong, but he didn't want to leave any loose ends that might create a wrong impression and invite misguided suspicion.

As he was making his way out with the heavy black bag strapped over his right shoulder his blood froze. Aphrodite's voice emerged from the hall that led to his quarters. She was greeting one of his servants as she always did when she came to visit. She was the only person aside from the prince that was granted right of entrance to his quarters at will, without the servants being obligated to ask his permission every time. And she was also his only visitor beside the prince that was on friendly terms with the servants, as though they were of equal rank.

The reason this untimely visit disconcerted The Boy was of course the black bag he was carrying. Its weight would double of he had to stuff pretenses for it inside, and triple if he revealed his secret. He had an urge to turn back and hide it in his room but judging by the volume of Aphrodite's footsteps he wouldn't make it in time. So he simply continued walking in the direction of the hall wearing a calm, leisurely face.

"My love! I've come to see you and you're already leaving?" Aphrodite said with a start the moment their paths intersected at the end of the hall. She was wearing her beautiful hair tied in a sophisticated style over her head, which she did every time they met for she knew it was his favorite. It was the way of their love to prompt such acts of selfish consideration for each other.

"But if I'd known you were coming I wouldn't have made plans. But here, let me cancel them so we can spend the day together", our boy said and whipped around as if to return to his room. There were less than a handful of reasons in the world for which they would delay a meeting between them, but a new addition was soon to be made.

"There will be no need for that. Does that hideous black bag have to do with your plans? I hope then that your plan involves a great deal of disposal and perhaps even setting fire", she said facetiously. Only then did The Boy realize that the bag had accumulated such a thick layer of dust that it was no longer black but a dirty grey color.

"In fact this bag is quite important to me."

"Oh, in that case don't dispose of it and keep it well away from fire! Should I join you for your plans?"

"I'm afraid not, darling. It's something I must do alone."

"Then at least you can be a little less mysterious about it."

"I'm going to do business."

"Business?"

"Nothing less", our boy confirmed, drawing a great deal of confidence considering he was relying on a small miracle and a heap of optimism.

"But you have never done business before. How will you do it? You barely have any money. And how does this bag serve your purpose? What's inside it?"

"As for the matter of money, as I've said I have a plan. Regarding the bag, it's indeed an important means. But its contents I'm afraid I can't reveal at this moment, not even to you my love."

"And now my curiosity is in the sky! But I will respect your wishes and leave you, my love. Will you call on me when you've freed yourself from your engagements?"

"You are my angel. I will come see you tonight."

And so the two young lovers parted ways. Aphrodite was in very fine feather, as she always was after even the shortest interaction with The Boy. The latter was greatly relieved, having overcome a formidable obstacle. Still he treaded carefully and slowly, as the bag did well to cover the coins from sight but nothing to muffle their suspicious clanking noises. Yet the moment he stepped out of the palace he ran into another obstacle in the form of the prince. Indeed, when one is in the greatest hurry the path becomes riddled with the greatest number of potholes.

"Brother! I've come to ask for your assistance in a matter concerning our Guard… but it seems you already have your hands full", said our handsome prince, clad as he always was in his Captain of the Guard uniform. He rarely came off duty, and even then his thoughts would still be with his men, the horses, the equipment, the borders- there was so much to think about. Ever since his last spark of hope for endearing Aphrodite had been extinguished he had become a truly model Captain, but meanwhile he was hardly a model for anything else. Romance had become a detested burden. Smiles entailed a sense of guilt, as though a moment's happiness was a sin against his broken heart. Pleasure was a rare indulgence allowed only when there wasn't enough pain. Even the news of Dansalot's impeachment from his command of the Capital Guard, which the rumors attributed to his humiliation by our prince, didn't soften his grief. It was said that Dansalot had become a vengeful man, having sworn to avenge his honor against the man who'd unscrupulously brought about his ruin. This didn't strike fear in our prince's heart, as a heart that's callous to joy and happiness is equally unresponsive to threats against its existence.

Many noticed this change in our young, adulated prince, but most attributed it to the converging pressures of Captaincy and princehood. Some thought it a favorable thing that a man of such importance should sacrifice his own happiness so he could better serve his people. The King and Queen had attempted to inquire into the matter on several occasions but were adamantly rebuffed by their proud son. Aphrodite was too shy to make any advance. And there was only one in the entire kingdom that knew the reason for the prince's plight,whose identity we already know. He happened to be also the man closest to him, and the only one who had the power to transform the prince's utter despondency into unmitigated happiness. But on this particular subject God had chosen two paths for this trio of love. On one path The Boy and his Aphrodite walked together, and the other was for the prince to tread alone. The Boy thought that there wasn't a man on Earth who would digress from the golden path paved for him, and therefore that Aphrodite's heart was rightfully his. He was prepared to do anything to change his dear friend's fortune- anything but cross paths with him.

"The Captain of the Guard need not ask twice. I will make myself available at once-" Our boy began, but he knew as much that the sun was hot as that the prince wouldn't allow it.

"Nonsense, brother. I'm giving my life to the Guard; there is no reason for you to do the same. Settle your matters and we will meet at a more convenient time. Now tell me- what's occupying you at the moment? And what's that bag that your shoulder is about to collapse under?"

The Boy had been delayed while carrying the bag for so long that his right shoulder was trembling under the weight of the coins. He carefully switched shoulders and said:

"If you must know, I'm going to do business. And this bag contains something that will be of great assistance to me."

"Business! But what have you to do with doing business? Need I remind you that you have no many, dear brother? Unless that bag of yours is loaded with coins of pure gold." The prince hadn't the slightest idea of the chilling effect his jest had on our boy.

"I have a plan. And regarding the bag, I'd prefer not to go into detail just now."

"Very well", the prince said with a chuckle that was quickly repressed. "I wish you the best of luck in your new venture."

Thus this second obstacle was overcome and our boy was free to conquer his heart's desire. He made his way to the trade area at the very center of the kingdom, where a varied throng of people assembled every day. Unlike the courtyard area, the trade area lacked a sophisticated aristocratic air and was designed solely as a place of trade. It was the perfect place for him to blend in with the people and use his bagful of gold coins to gradually earn another bag, then another. There were no rules of conduct or appearances to be maintained, and any man who wasn't dishonest enough to incur the wrath of a large number of other men was welcome at its invisible gates. Some traders had small stalls where they presented their goods, others came with personal suitcases stacked with worthless items they hoped to pass off as valuable to a gullible buyer. Others still came with limited money in hand and a specific object at heart. They said the operation of the trade area depended on either the honesty or the gullibility of the people. The latter was certainly the more frequent, but still it played only a minor role. The true attribute that kept it alive was that almost everyone tried to swindle everybody else. A thief doesn't turn to the authorities when he has been stolen from; he steals again. On the same token, as long as there were roughly equal attempts at deception between the people, fairness would ultimately be restored. In fact, too many honest men would cause the system to crumble and this kind of free trade to vanish. Fortunately for our boy, these important characteristics were no novelties to him.

'Normal people always try to make money', he thought, 'while aristocrats always spend the money they have. So I'll start as a normal person and soon become one of the aristocrats.' He was so well disguised that in the general commotion it was almost impossible to identify him. Certainly, this place for normal people was the place for him. Then he remembered that normal people like very much to steal others' possessions if only given the opportunity, so he strapped the bag tightly around his shoulder and pressed it with the inside of his arm against his side. If he hadn't come armed with his sword under his smock (which he wouldn't be able to use very effectively in case of need, but whose mere sight should repel any unkind thought against him), he should've been quite fretful for his treasure.

At this point everything was set for him to start doing business and earn his second bag of gold coins.

There he stood, to his right two bearded men haggling over some esoteric home appliance so shoddy that he filled with pity for the both of them. To his left an old man with torn gloves on his hands was recounting a few silver coins in his hand with tears in his eyes. It seemed the result of this second count was no better than the first had been. In front of him was a group of people hollering at one another, and by the looks of it were prepared to throw fists in every direction. He looked around and thought how all this would help him duplicate his bag of gold.

'I have no experience, and I know nothing about doing business', he thought to himself, suddenly attacked by the ghastly notion that his plan was faulty. Perhaps there was a better way for him to gain wealth, one that wouldn't require of him to engage in business.

But his resilient mind soon broke away from this uninventive state of anxiety and found that this was the perfect place for him. All he had to do was pit his exceptional reputation against their weak moral fiber and inherent suspicion in each other. With tremendous efficiency the pieces of the puzzle fell in place in his mind and he could see the gold coins piling up. First he walked around, surveying the area in search of one particular kind of person. He managed to blend in well with the simple men around him, and he managed to find the man he was looking for almost at once.

His clothes were among the most tattered in the whole trade area, and his scraggly face the most grimy. Hair grew unevenly on his head and face and his belly was so oversized that it plopped with every step he made. And here was the most important part, which The Boy learned from a short observation of his interaction with the others: he was a family man in great need of a loan, which nobody was willing to supply him with but for an exorbitant interest rate. They obviously didn't trust him to repay his loan and therefore wanted compensation for the risk they would take. But the man cried that he wouldn't be able to pay back such heavy interests and so at the moment kept touring the area empty-handed like a beggar.

'This is the man I need', though our boy. 'He is my first step to wealth.' He took the poor man aside and conversed with him in private.

"I hear you are in desperate need of a loan", he mumbled softly.

"Yes sir, my wife has fallen ill and our meager savings have dwindled to nothing. My boys have only just now found jobs in the woods so we should be back on our feet soon- better, we will be well off, but for the time being-"

"That's fine", The Boy chimed in. "I trust you. Now tell me, do you know who I am?" At this point he leveled his eyes with the man's for the first time and opened his smock so the man could see his sword.

"Why yes! Of course! You are the Lieutenant of the King's Guard. The poor boy turned prince! But what, may I ask, is a man of you rank doing here?" The man exclaimed humbly. His deference to our boy was much greater still than what he expressed in words.

"Shh, that's no concern of yours. I've brought you here to make you a proposal, but first you must vow to keep my identity to yourself", The Boy said with more authority than he'd ever adopted.

"But sir, if it's secrecy you are seeking, there are snakes slithering here in every direction, and they will discover you eventually", the man warned. He was such a simple man that it seemed he was incapable of guile.

"Nevertheless."

"I will do as you wish sir, of course", the simple man said, placing his right hand on his chest in a meaningless sign of commitment.

"Good. Next, why does everyone demand such high interest rates from you?"

"Well, I've never taken a loan before so they don't trust me. And I'm poor and desperate so they think they can exploit me. I'm sorry that you have been exposed to such cruelty, which I'm sure doesn't exist in the higher circles. But I couldn't repay them the price they ask if I sold myself to them as their slave. It's hopeless. Hopeless I say."

The Boy didn't require more than a momentary pause to determine he'd struck gold. 'You will make me rich, poor man', he thought with a final stroke of conviction.

"But don't despair just yet. You see, I used to be a poor boy as you know, but have been delivered from the vicious claws of poverty by God. I've now made it my mission to do whatever is in my humble power to help those who've not shared my good fortune."

The poor man was ecstatic. "You're took kind, sir! Long live the King!"

"How much do you need?" The Boy said, ignoring the man's praise.

"Let's see- we need to keep the house running for at least another week before we're in balance… then we need boots for the boys… let's not forget at least one more doctor's visit-"

"A number; give me a number", The Boy interjected irritably.

"Three gold coins is acceptable. Four is desirable."

The Boy fished out his black bag and whipped out four gold coins. The poor man was astonished by the sight of the contents of the bag and The Boy didn't mind his staring. He felt he had nothing to fear in this man. Then he dropped the coins into the man's outstretched palms.

"One, two, three four. That should be satisfactory for you."

"Dear Lord, hast thou sent me an angel? Thank you, kind sir. This is a gift?"

"It's a gift, indeed. But not a free one."

"Oh? Then please state the terms so I will know what to expect."

"You have two weeks to establish a regular income to upkeep your household. At the end of those two weeks you will repay two gold coins."

"But sir! That's not enough time to-"

"Hush! To cover the rest of your debt, you will pay an additional gold coin in each of the weeks that follow. Six weeks later you will have repaid the full sum of eight gold coins, at which point your debt will be paid off."

"Kind sir, you will strain our income to the point of another bankruptcy. Remit, please! My family will crush under the weight of such a hefty debt. Extend the time, perhaps, and allow us a month-"

"My terms are non-negotiable. You will find no better proposal if you scour the entire kingdom. Accept it now or return my coins to me. In fact, I'm sensing that my bag is becoming too light of weight for my liking", The Boy insisted without an ounce of leniency.

The poor man was bleak and pensive, but he agreed.

"Very well. And one last thing: remember who your loaner is. A day's delay in payment and you will have the entire King's Guard at your door."

The man, now shrunken to the size of a frightened dog, nodded obsequiously and left.

'Perfect. I've turned a high risk loan to a low risk loan, and still charged a high interest rate for it. The poor man wouldn't dare violate our terms. He'd sooner sell his house than be a day late on his payment', The Boy thought joyfully.

This was to become the young entrepreneur's business model. He'd find people with questionable credit ability, especially family men with much to lose. He would offer them loans at a high interest rate but still lower than what the others offered which they couldn't accept. And since there wasn't a man in the kingdom who would risk dishonoring the Lieutenant of the King's Guard and having him as an enemy, there was no risk of default. Everyone paid on time, and within several weeks each gold coin with which our boy had set out in his bag became two.

At the end of the first day his bag of gold coins was empty. He had great prospects for future wealth, but without gold coins he couldn't keep loaning and therefore would have no way of further advancing his aim. And as is known to anyone who has seen a man holding a gold coin in his hands or a woman wearing a gold necklace on her neck, people are never weaker than when they are possessed by greed for wealth. And this weakness being equally dominant in those who have yet to have ever tasted wealth, be they committed housewives or courageous soldiers, our boy was driven by it to do more without waiting. He needed another bag of gold coins, and he knew exactly where to acquire one.

On the second day at the trade area he sought not the poor loanees but the well-to-do loaners. He found one with piercing eyes and a hooked nose so large that he seemed to use it to sniff out the fake gold coins unscrupulous poor men tried to repay him with. His friendliness was so affected that any regular nose could get whiff of it from a distance. He was quite coarse really, and was quick to snap at any man that didn't please him. And yet judging by the number of people gathered around him one might think that he was a true benevolent soul. This man was so successful in giving out loans, in fact, that he wore a suit and had assistants to help him spread his business. The Boy went directly to this distinguished man, presented himself, and demanded the best terms for a loan that anyone has ever received. The loaner hardly had time to process The Boy's request before the latter, inspired by the man's own impudence, threatened to turn to another loaner if his demands weren't met at once. Thus he made off with another bagful of gold coins, acquired at exceedingly favorable terms. By the end of the day his bag was empty again, and he had a debt equal to a bagful and a half of gold coins, to be paid within the next four weeks. In the same amount of time he would be repaid three bagfuls, and after an additional four weeks he would collect three more. He was already a creditor of many, an while he'd kept no record of them, there resided no doubt in his mind that none of them would risk incurring his disfavor.

This simple and effective method of operation was repeated whenever there was enough time for him to escape his duties to the Guard, to the prince and to Aphrodite.

'Wealth is on its way to me', he thought with great delight whenever he saw a woman with luxurious dress or thought of the great abundance of the palace, none of which belonged to him.

Chapter 10

 

Sometimes something that has been hidden from sight and blocked from the memory can come to life unexpectedly and have a profound impact on the course of events. To us this may be merely a distant, abstract truth, but to the people of the kingdom it became a bitter reality.

It began several days after The Boy's first visit to the trade area. He was returning from training with the Guard when he recoiled at a terrible sight that was far more painful than having fallen off his horse during a simulated skirmish with a new recruit. Aphrodite was sitting in the palace's anteroom, curled in a ball on the marble floor and crying with the indomitable grief of a child. Having already checked his horse at the royal stables, The Boy was now on foot and so accelerated to a hurried trot. He was about to start climbing the stairway that set apart the entrance of the palace from the ground that belonged to ordinary men, when he caught sight of the prince from the corner of his eye.

"Brother!" The prince called out in a sharp cry that was alarming to The Boy but unnoticeable to the weeping beauty. The prince was crouching under the lavish hedge that ran on either side of the wide stairway and blocked him from Aphrodite's view. He, too, was in a very glum state that didn't allay our boy's concern.

"You're here! What's happened? Has some catastrophe ruined us?" The Boy cried, and for some reason the first thought that haunted him was that one of his ruses, either recent or long past, had been discovered.

"I have no idea. I rode ahead before you, remember? When I arrived she was like this, and her tears haven't stopped flowing ever since. I'm afraid she might flood the whole palace." There was an entreating quality in the prince's tone, as though the only hopes of the resolution of his plight lay in The Boy's hands.

"Have you spoken to her?" The Boy asked, even more alarmed now.

The prince shook his head in resignation. "I was afraid my presence would upset her even more.

"Good. You're probably right. And yet you're still here."

"I couldn't approach her, but how could I leave her in this condition? I've never seen her so upset. Even the devil himself wouldn't have the hardness of heart to abandon an angel in such misery. Go now! Find out the cause for her pain and make it go away. Use the force of the entire Guard if necessary."

Rare were the occasions on which The Boy was reminded of the profundity of the prince's love for Aphrodite. And every time this happened his heart twitched. But better one's heart twitch every now and then than lose one's sap of life. He laid a bruised hand on his friend's shoulder in consolation and clambered up the stairs. He approached Aphrodite slowly, somewhat deterred by the intensity of her grief.

'What if I won't be able to sooth her?' He thought with a tremble. 'What if only the prince can sooth her?'

But he shook these terrible thoughts off and approached her with heavy steps until he was standing upon her. Then he knelt at her side and whispered to her with as much softness as a boy's heart can contain.

"My love, I'm here."

"Oh, thank God!" Aphrodite wailed, and she freed her arms from her knees so she could throw them around him. Through her sobs The Boy could hear the faint sound of footsteps that belonged to the prince.

"Now, now. Your tears are too precious to fall on this wretched floor. Only the skies of heaven deserve your angel's tears."

"Heaven? What heaven? There is only hell, and we are already in it." It wasn't unusual for Aphrodite, a highly sensitive girl with a rather fickle mood, to succumb to her emotions. But such a burst of sorrow The Boy hadn't witnessed before.

"Tell me what demon the devil has sent to cause you this grief, and I will track it down and kill it with my bare hands. We have the King's Guard, even the King himself if need be, at our disposal, my love. But first we must know what we're up against."

"You're too strong for a weal girl like me, my darling. Father says it's hopeless. He has tried to use his influence with the King, but he says all is lost."

"Your father isn't Lieutenant of the King's Guard, nor is he a household member in the royal palace. Don't deny me any longer; entrust me with the sacred mission of setting your heart at peace!"

"Yes, of course I shall tell you, though the very mention of it will widen the tear in my heart."

"Then be quick, my dear, and be strong. I won't prolong your suffering", The Boy said and squeezed her trembling hand firmly.

With red eyes, scraggly hair, moist cheeks and a shaky voice, Aphrodite finally let her pain out into the open. "It's mother. She's been robbed. Cruelly, heartlessly robbed."

"So it's only a matter of money", The Boy said with a sigh of relief.

"No, it's not. She had a dream. She'd been working so hard, saving every little piece of nickel she could, all of it for us."

"For us?"

"Yes, for us. She was making secret arrangements for her distant cousins to receive us as guests of honor in the kingdom of Ngoro once we were married. Hush there- she knows we have no such plans. But she believes in us- she believes in you, and she thinks God has already planned our wedding. But now she's crushed, and her small secret fortune is gone."

Ngoro! It was the most beautiful of lands, tucked away far beyond the southern desert. It was fabled to be the most magical of kingdoms, with trees bigger than castles and creatures only one-half worldly, and few were the men north of the desert ever to have laid eyes on her. The round trip would've come at no small price- perhaps a hundred gold coins. As for the marriage, he'd never pondered it very deeply, but that Aphrodite's mother had seen it in her mind's eye rejoiced him. And that they'd been denied it by some vile thief with a callous heart infuriated him.

"And the royal investigators…"

"They say it's a lost cause", she bawled. "Their hands are tied up, and there more pressing matters they must attend to. At the same breath they confirm that the more time has gone by, the less the chances of ever finding the thief. Mother says she will start saving again, but I can see in her eyes that she's devastated. And she hates herself for having been so careless with it- would you believe that she took it with her to-"

"Say no more, angel", The Boy chimed in. I have a close acquaintance with the head of the royal investigators. I will make sure he appreciates the importance of this case and finds your dear mother's thief. My wind will blow and open the highest of windows, and a more thorough investigation will not have been conducted if the King himself had been stolen from. Your mother shall see her fortune retrieved to her, and if her heart still so desires, we may one day savor the wonderful Ngoro forests."

"You will do it? You will help my poor mother where all hope has already been forsaken and punish that wretched thief? Are you sure it's possible?" Finally a ray of hope shined in her eyes and she was angelic again.

"As possible as you are beautiful, my love. In fact I shall waste no time and leave this very moment, before I have even removed my uniform. Go home, my sweet Aphrodite, and wait for my news."

"Could I love you even more than I do? My hero! I will cry no more, now that I know I have you as my savior", Aphrodite said, and she returned home with a very different mood than when she'd left it.

Our boy's next station was the prince's quarters. He arrived with haste, waived his usual courtesy to the servants that were as caring uncles to him, and banged on the door of the prince's bedroom.

"Who is it?" The heavy grunt of a prince wallowing in sorrow emerged from inside.

"It's me! Come quickly; I need your help. Aphrodite needs your help."

At this the prince sprang out of his bed and his heavy brooding and rushed to the door like a soldier reporting for duty. "What is it?"

The Boy related a succinct version of the cause for his lover's woes. It was so succinct, in fact, that it omitted the part about the purpose of the savings and the journey to Ngoro.

"It's terrible indeed", said the prince. "But you said my help is required…"

"Yes, don’t you see why?"

"This is no time for prevaricating, brother. I'm nervous and tired; speak clearly so I can see what you see."

"You must use your sway with that friend of yours, the chief of the royal investigators. He must allocate the due resources. If he applies himself to it, there isn't a thief on this side of the valley that could escape him."

This startled our conscientious prince. "You're asking me to use my personal influence to change the priorities of investigation. Haven't you thought of those who will pay the price for it and see justice turn its back on them? This favoritism doesn't befit you, brother."

"Come, now. You know how arbitrarily these things are determined to begin with. I'm only asking that the dice be rolled differently. And don't forget, I'm not asking it for me- this is for her. There is no other way."

"We'll have to think of something. Something that suits honorable men and not opportunistic snakes", the prince said proudly.

"I see. In that case I will return to her now and tell her that the hopes she pinned to you were futile. She said she believed she would find in you not only a virtuous prince but a gallant savior, but I will now confront her with her wistfulness. Goodbye for now." With this The Boy turned to leave, but marched slowly so as to allow the prince's unconditional love for Aphrodite to take over and reverse his sentence. This is precisely what happened, and soon the prince's pride, conviction and sense of fairness had all melted away. What steered his heart now was the chance to answer the need of his loved one.

"Wait! I'll do it. In fact, I will leave at once. You may inform the beautiful lady that a full-scale investigation should be underway within the hour. "

"You're doing the right thing, prince", said The Boy with a sense of triumph. "Aphrodite will be forever grateful." When he declared at the Parthons household that his reasoning with the chief royal investigator had been successful and intense investigative efforts were already being made, he was received with immense admiration.

"Do you think they will find it? Do you think mother's gold will be saved?" Aphrodite cried avidly.

"Well, if there's an unscrupulous thief walking among us, the chief investigator will find him. And anyone that would have had the coldness of heart to steal the fruit of Mrs. Parthons' kindness must be an unscrupulous thief. So you see, I really see now hope for our poor thief. Your gold is practically back in your hands, Ma'am."

Surely our boy's conviction was somewhat superfluous, but one cannot deny the astonishing skill with which the chief investigator went about fulfilling his duty to the people. It wouldn't be long after The Boy had left the Parthons that the investigator himself appeared at their door to collect information as diligently as an act collects grains of sand for her nest.

"Our gratitude to you shall never wane", Aphrodite's fair mother said with ladylike excitement (which means that her excitement was kept in check, as ladies are expected to do). She was an almost exact duplicate of her daughter in terms of appearance and was therefore the object of forbidden desire for many married men. "But Aphrodite tells me that you haven't even heard the whole story for which you have taken such pains on our behalf. Perhaps you would care to take a seat, and I will make you some tea and give you a firsthand account."

"A man who declines a woman's proffer of kindness is worthy of scorn", said our boy, whose suave tactfulness we have already come to learn of. "But I must nevertheless turn you down. I remember how much your dear daughter suffered when she was forced to tell it to me- and that was just half the story. I know what was necessary in order to offer my humble assistance, and that should suffice."

"But it's no longer such a source of pain, now that our case is in good hands", Mrs. Parthons insisted.

"Nonetheless, I'd rather not take the chance. For me to be the cause of even the slightest twitch in your or your daughter's heart- no ma'am! No man alive is worth it. In fact, if you'll be so gracious as to permit it, I should now take my leave and attend to other, though less important but still worthy business."

Permission was granted, and as he left a shower of earnest gratitude rained down on him. He was elated, satisfied with himself, and eager to make more loans to the kingdom's needy.

'By the time Mrs. Parthons has had her gold returned to her', he thought greedily, 'I will have twice the amount of gold of my own.'

Chapter 11

 

Since The Boy was hardly familiar with the chief investigator's work, it wasn't entirely startling that he'd underestimated his performance. He was thrilled when only two days after the investigation had been launched Aphrodite informed him that strong leads had been traced and the investigators were closing in on the culprit.

"I'm glad but not surprised", our boy said joyfully. "God doesn't allow the greedy to enjoy the fruits of their sins." Wealth was besetting him from multiple directions, and his mind was so light of concerns and his heart so pure of regrets that he'd begun to contemplate Mrs. Parthons' vision.

'Marry her, and you shall be the happiest man alive', he thought to himself, assuming it was for him to decide if and when it happened. Alas, the jubilant peace he'd been lulled into and which outlined his plans was fatally deceptive. Years earlier he'd marched through silent woods without realizing the danger that lurked inside, and now he was treading the most treacherous ground thinking he was in a bed of roses.

You see, our boy had devised many ambitious schemes and undertaken ventures that few men would've dared to attempt, and had gleaned tremendous success. But as will happen to any man that has the courage to take risks, his path was peppered with mistakes. And while we all know that mistakes aren't to be grieved but acknowledged and learned from, there is nothing more revengeful than a mistake gone unnoticed. Of which, to his own great detriment, our boy had made quite a few. And if on that day whose events we have begun to set forth he'd thought ultimate happiness was a few words away, when the sun reversed its angle in the sky he realized he was in fact standing a final mistake's distance from a deep abyss.

It began the moment he returned to his quarters that afternoon. His main servant greeted him with nervousness in the stead of his usual geniality.

"Sir, finally! I have been plucking my own nerves waiting for you", the little man blurted out worriedly.

"You've missed me so? Why, I'm flattered", The Boy said facetiously. "Now, speak up. What is all this urgency? You seem paler than your usual self. And may I say, it doesn't become you."

"This is no time for jests and japes, sir. The chief investigator and his men were here." With his gestures the servant begged our boy to rush inside and take stock of the damage, but his master stood firmly in place.

"The chief investigator? What was his business here?"

"He presented me with a permit signed by the prince authorizing him to search anywhere within the territory of the palace if he deems it absolutely necessary."

"It must have had to do with the Parthons case."

"Yes! Yes, he said something about that", the servant exclaimed, noticeably relieved by the fact that his master was in the loop.

"How did you respond to his request?"

"Forgive me sir, but I wasn't authorized to deny it. You gave me no countermanding orders, therefore his permit was perfectly valid."

"Well done. What is this shame on your face? We are to do all within our power to assist this man and catch the evil perpetrator against that wonderful woman. And yet I wonder what the chief investigator hoped to find here."

"I'd advise you to inspect your bedroom, for that is where they spent the majority of their time. They were extremely energetic by the looks of it, and when they left they weren't a bit displeased."

Suddenly, as though this last piece of information changed his entire perception of the world, a chilling realization dawned on our boy. Everything seemed to connect in the least favorable but most likely way possible. A moment ago he felt everything in the world was going his way, and suddenly everything was against him. His face drained of color and became so white that the servant's pallor seemed a very dark hue. His heart throbbed so hard that his ribcage could hardly contain it. His transformation was instantaneous and complete.

"Sir? What demon has taken hold of you?" His servant cried, panic-stricken. He wasn't used to see our boy undergo such violent changes. The Boy said nothing and bolted straight into his bedroom to find his terrible fears confirmed.

The room was torn in two. The majority of it was as neat and tidy as a dedicated servant could make his master's room, and bore no trace of the investigators' visit. It was perfectly fit for a Lieutenant of the King's Guard to sleep in; the King himself couldn't complain of such accommodations. But nearer the door the room was in utter chaos. The contents of the wardrobe were scattered about on the floor. Precious clothes were lying about in a way that would aggravate any man under ordinary circumstances, but at the moment they were devoid of meaning. Everything in the room was without meaning, as The Boy knew that a most terrible thing had happened. He shuddered like a man looking down and realizing the depth of the abyss he was plunging into.

'I've brought about my own demise', he thought. Then he darted out of his violated bedroom and headed toward his only remaining sliver of hope.

When he reached the prince's quarters the chief investigator had already arrived. He was conversing intensely with the prince, who was evidently flustered. In his hands our prince was holding the very bane of our boy's existence: the white purse. The Boy froze at the entrance to the quarters, at the very spot where he'd once met the prince for the first time. Having perceived the scene that was unraveling between the two men, he couldn't bring himself to approach any further. But there was still a fair measure of grace attached to his name, and by virtue of this grace the prince was thrilled to see him.

"Brother! I'm exceedingly gratified to see you here. But why are you standing over there? Come here and clear this mess up for us, if you will", he said keenly, intent on proving a point to the investigator.

The Boy's steps were far more timid and hesitant than in his first time there as a young anonymous boy. It was an excruciating toil, but he finally made it to the prince's side. His eyes momentarily leveled with the investigator's but dipped to the floor when struck by his accusing gaze.

"The investigator says he found this purse in your closet. Hidden there, he claims. And it's been confirmed by Mrs. Parthons as the one she'd used to keep her gold in. Now, would you be so kind as to shed light on this queer coincidence and allay the investigator's misguided suspicions?" The prince said with exasperation, as does one who feels his time is being wasted on formalities. It was clear that he didn't for a second consider the only solution to this mystery indicated by the facts to be feasible.

The Boy's eyes alternated from the prince to the empty, soiled white purse. He'd had his back against the wall on new few occasions in the past, as we have all born witness to, but here he felt the truth had caught up to him. Perhaps he could attempt to concoct some clever subterfuge in the last moment and rely on the prince's influence to wriggle out of yet another tight corner, but he had no desire to do so. His resourceful mind was tired of fabricating, and he was reluctant to try to cover his tracks again.

'I'll tell the truth, and maybe I will be forgiven', he thought. But while we should praise our boy's newfound penchant for honesty, we would have done well to remind him that a single virtuous act in the present doesn't atone for a legion of other sinful in the past.

"The investigator is a very, very capable man", The Boy said grimly. "And his suspicions aren't misguided."

The prince started, and it was now his turn to lose all vital color in his face. "What does this mean, brother? Be straightforward."

"That purse was found in my bedroom because I placed it- no, I hid it there. I found it, as I'm sure the investigator has already gathered, at church a few days ago", said our boy, now mustering the courage to look into the investigator's unyielding dark eyes. In the short span of time between having first made the connection between the gold-filled purse and Mrs. Parthon's purse and now, our clever boy managed to connect the dots. Mrs. Parthons had mentioned her visit to the church; the investigators had inquired and found out who'd attended church that morning; someone had identified The Boy; word of The Boy's corresponding dealings at the trade area had reached the Chief Investigator's ears; the smart man added one plus one and came out with two. The trace was in fact quite a thick one.

The prince gasped sharply and stared acutely at The Boy. Then, without diverting his eyes, he said to the investigator: "Mr. Chief Investigator, sir, would you please leave us at this point? I think your investigation has just come to a successful completion, and we have found what we were looking for."

The investigator was taken aback by this request. "This is no time for me to leave, but to summon my men and have this thief arrested and tried", he said sternly. The Boy was barely following this exchange, not knowing which of the two contingencies he dreaded more.

"You're very right, sir, and I'm deeply chagrined for asking this second personal favor of you, but I must be the first to hear this man out. I assure you no injustice will be done here."

"Very well, your Highness." The investigator retreated and the two young men were alone.

"I was going to put it back, filled with twice as many-" The Boy began but was allowed no leniency from an incredibly determined prince.

"Tell me everything. No omissions, no pretense. The whole truth", he demanded with the royal air of one who can't be refused. The Boy began to set forth his account, but it's a timeless rule that the truth strikes hard upon those who distort it, and our boy was offered no mercy in this regard. He had only begun to delineate his plan for acquiring personal wealth when the sound of light but hurried footsteps entered the prince's quarters from beyond the closed door. The prince's servant rapped on the door and declared the arrival of the one person in this ruthless world The Boy was most reluctant to see at the moment.

'God Almighy, be gentle with me, and with her', our delicate boy thought as Aphrodite paced the room explaining her hastened arrival.

"The investigator paid us a visit on no friendly terms", she said between gasps. "He had the purse that had been stolen from mother- that's the one! But he wouldn’t tell us where he'd found it under the argument that it was confidential information that he couldn't reveal until the investigation was over. So I immediately went looking for you, my love, hoping you knew something more than the Chief was willing to share, seeing as you were the one who prompted him to take on the investigation in the first place."

The prince's fiery gaze now darkened, and it seemed he might pull out his sword and chop The Boy's head off at any moment. As for The Boy, he knew his abyss had now deepened to twice its former depth. But there was really no difference between a man plummeting down a 100-meter abyss and one falling twice the distance- the outcome was one and the same.

"My love", he said grimly, "the credit for the initiation of the investigation isn't mine but the prince's. In fact I did nothing but beg him to make use of the Chief Investigator's profound respect for him, which he only did since I told him you'd requested it personally."

Aphrodite was baffled, not yet seeing the true face of the villain before her. "Is this true?" She asked, turning her beautiful eyes to the prince. Our prince, even in his state of rage and bitter disillusionment cast her a shy, gentle glance and nodded humbly. Aphrodite's heart jumped inside its cage at the sight of this uncanny expression of emotion.

'Is this the man that didn't return my love?' She thought, and inside her a turmoil of wonderful and terrible feelings raged. This exchange of feelings, silent but fraught with emotion more profound than The Boy had ever received from his lover, brought tears to The Boy's eyes. They were tears of pain and regret, but also tears of correction and repentance. When they poured down to his lips, first in a thin trickle and eventually in an unstoppable gush, they seemed to wash away the hoard of lies the little lips had told.

"Don't cry, my love!" Aphrodite cried, wiping the tears from his cheeks and wondering what in this earth could possibly be atrocious enough to draw tears from those courageous eyes that she'd until then never seen blink once too many. "Whatever you've done, I forgive you. You are too good to regret anything."

But the tears had already melted away the cowardly husk that had covered our dear boy from the pains of reality. "No, my love. In fact I have been far too bad to deserve your forgiveness."

Whereupon, with great suffering but also a liberating release, he related to them the entire, unabridged truth for all its ugliness. He hadn't realized before how heavy the weight of deception had been bearing down upon him, but he felt it now as it made way to another kind of weight- that of hurting his loved ones. He told them at length and in great detail about his attempt to gain wealth, about his visit to the church, about his finding the purse and his self-persuasion that it was a gift from above, about having hidden the purse so as not to arouse suspicion, about his business at the trade area.

At this point The Boy was so disgusted by his own actions that he felt any further vilification of himself would be held as a virtue. And so he confessed all of his lies regarding his swordsmanship skills. For good measure he pointed out that by so doing he'd almost brought about a crushing defeat to the Capitals, and only thanks to the prince's undeserved trust in him they'd been saved. He went on to confess his lies to Aphrodite and her father regarding her past, and didn't mention that he'd done it in the name of his love for her so as not to provoke any kind of sympathy from his witnesses.

Several times throughout his account Aphrodite was on the verge of collapsing and required the prince's support to stay in audience. As for our prince, he was strong as a stone in the face of The Boy's words yet soft as a lover in Aphrodite's moments of weakness. One could sense that while one friendship and one bond of love, both built upon faulty foundations, were being broken, a new love was being born.

When The Boy's account came to its end, a gloomy silence settled upon the room. Aphrodite was trying to repair her broken heart. The prince tried to contain his disappointment in his brother and search for some logical reason to justify or at least explain the gruesome turn of events. Both attempts attained very little success, but should nevertheless credit our new protagonists with additional appreciation for their fortitude.

Our poor boy, poorer now than he'd ever been, wasn't looking for forgiveness. He knew he wasn't worthy of their sympathy- if he couldn't win his own sympathy, how could he deserve theirs?

'These two have kind hearts, and they might offer me more than I deserve in way of forgiveness', he thought painfully. 'Even though I have confessed not mere isolated acts of iniquity but an entire shared history of betrayal, they would find forgiveness in their hearts. It is quite simple: to forgive is divine, and these two are divine. But I won't give them the chance. I will tell them my last secret, the one that will raise their spirits and fill their hearts with joy they've never known before, after I've gone. I shouldn't take credit for a truth I've kept from them for my own interests.' Indeed, hearts far less generous than those of Aphrodite and the prince would've taken pity on The Boy, who within less than an hour's time had lost love, friendship, glory, rank, and material wealth and had only his shattered pride and deep remorse as his companions.

But no- he hadn't lost them just now. In truth, he'd never possessed them at all. He'd achieved them all on false grounds. Every one of his acts of sharp wit had been accompanied by unscrupulous deception. His persistence had always gone hand in hand with callousness of heart. And his loyalty and commitment- they had all been part of a greedy quest to satisfy his selfish desires.

'My love wasn't love, my friendship wasn't friendship. And I was certainly no Lieutenant', he conceded to himself, and was more than willing to declare it at the top of the bell tower before the entire kingdom. But now was no time for self-deprecation. It was time to make amends and fix what little could still be fixed.

"I will now surrender myself to the Chief Investigator and repeat what I've just told you", he said shamefully. "With your permission, Your Royal Highness."

The prince replied with harsh words but in the soft tone of a caring brother: "It would be pointless to tell him everything, as only a small part of your story is a violation of our kingdom's laws."

"Yes, you're right of course", The Boy mumbled. The only crime he'd committed was the theft of the purse at church, and even for it he would be treated with leniency in case he relayed his winnings from the loans to Mrs. Parthons. The rest of his confessions would find a deaf ear in the Chief Investigator.

"Then perhaps I will tell him only what he wants to know", he corrected. But as he turned his back to the principal victims of his many ruses, there was a different thought going through his mind.

'By turning myself in I would accept punishment for but a small part of the pain I've caused. And I would force my loved ones to find their own painful way of dealing with me. It would be a final addition to my pile of wrongdoings. No, I will cause no more pain. I will help them move on without guilt and will pay the full cost of my sins', he determined as he made his way to the door.

"Wait!" The sweet voice of the girl he loved, which if there was justice in the world he should never be allowed to hear again, called out to him. "Why did you do it? I want to know why."

The Boy turned and looked at her for what he believed to be the last time. "I'm just a poor boy", he said quite miserably. And he hated himself for hurting such a treasure as her. Before he turned back and left his eyes fleeted over the prince's blank face.

'I'm already causing terrible pain. Let this be the end of it', he thought decisively, and then he burst out the door with his face buried in his hands.

The next day the prince called on The Boy with no set intention in his heart. More than anything he wanted to check on him, considering he seemed to have been in far greater an emotional turbulence that the prince. But no sooner had he stood at the door to The Boy's quarters that it opened and The Boy's main servant appeared.

"I've come to call on him", the prince declared and prepared to enter. But the servant blocked the way and said:

"But there is no one to visit, Your Highness. Here, he left this." And from the inside of his livery jacket he fished out a small note and gave it to the astonished prince. It was so short! He counted the words even before reading them: one, two, three. And here is what it read, neat letters in black ink on white parchment:

She loves you.

Who would've imagined that three simple words could transform a fairly miserable prince to the happiest man in the kingdom!

The prince stared at the parchment for at least two minutes, reading the message left for him perhaps fifty times and then staring at them absentmindedly. By the look on his face one might think he'd received news of a terrible tragedy, but in fact he was only trying to contain his joy so as not to do something unbecoming of a prince. Finally he snapped out of his jubilant reverie and spoke:

"He left?"

"Yes, sir. Yesterday, with the fall of dusk."

"Did he say when he plans to return?"

"He said to tell you to forget about him."

The prince left at once, and on his way to his quarters he pondered his reaction. He knew he was going to shut himself in his bedroom and cry, but he was yet undecided on whether he should cry for joy or for sorrow.

Chapter 12

 

It was a grand day in our fair little kingdom. After all, it's not every day that a future queen is made and that the greatest leader opens his heart to his people. In fact the people were so jolly that in the previous week there had been twice as many generous acts between them as thrifty or unkind ones.

The ceremony was to be completely open to the public and to take place at the courtyard. By a special ordinance issued by the King all shops and businesses were to remain closed as fit for a holiday, so the workers could attend the ceremony and partake of the general euphoria. Special scaffoldings had been erected all around the courtyard in order to accommodate the masses. Hundreds had volunteered to assist the Royal Decorators in setting up decorations of a thousand glittery colors. Dozens spent the night around the monument of The Men of Steel, where a beautiful altar had been erected. Festivity was thick in the air, and it traveled to the farthest corners of the kingdom so that even the woods were steeped with it.

In light of this thorough joy that blanketed our kingdom, one shouldn't be surprised to learn that our prince was in the seventh heaven. Without detracting from his usual graceful conduct, he was caught in a swirl of rapture that any man should consider himself lucky to experience if only once in a lifetime. There was no one happier than the prince in those days but one: his future wife.

In her worst days Aphrodite was a feast for the eyes for any man and an object of bitter jealousy for any of our kingdom's women. One can only imagine, then, to what heights of beauty she rose on her wedding day. And don't be fooled to attribute this new standard of beauty the white satin, diamond-lined bride's dress that had been tailor-made to drape her little fragile body. No, the glitter of the diamonds caught only the greediest, most ravenous eyes in the audience. The core of her beauty, on the other hand, lay in her pure, overjoyed features. When all the love and happiness in the world glint in a pair of brilliant green eyes, such mundane things as clothes or diamonds are relegated to their true function as mere adornments.

If we were to travel into the hearts of the two lovers, we would find an ocean of bliss obstructed by a single island of concern. It'd been three years since The Boy had confessed to them, and the same amount of time since they'd last seen him or heard any news of him. He was a ghost, and even the prince himself couldn't detect the slightest trace of him. Some believed The Boy was escaping from his past and didn't wish to be found. But the prince believed that he'd gone to correct himself and that one day he'd return to where he belonged.

There had been many nights throughout that time in which they'd sit together outside the palace and speak of him. They both had engraved on their minds such sweet memories of him that if he were suddenly to appear in the darkness, they would embrace him and shower him with love so deep that it would drown all of his lies. Every time a memory of him was evoked between them, they would each secretly wish that this time he would really come back. But he never did.

A week before the wedding, when there wasn't a living soul in the kingdom that wasn't aware of the exact day, place and time in which the ceremony would take place, the prince sent a messenger to The Boy's home with the purpose of extending personal invitations to the whole family and perhaps getting word of his whereabouts. Alas, The Boy's mother was barely better informed than the prince. She'd received an undated letter from her son several weeks earlier informing her that he was well and had found his place. He'd asked her neither to worry nor to search for him, and she did her best to oblige. To The Boy's mother his disappearance was an even greater mystery, as the reason for his escape from the palace had been kept in the dark. Aside from the prince, the future queen and the Chief Investigator, nobody in the kingdom knew the truth while everyone in the kingdom knew at least ten different rumors by heart.

And still, our faithful prince believed that The Boy would show up for the wedding. A single glance, perhaps a smile, would make it the perfect day.

No sooner had the deep chime of the bell that indicated midday echoed through the courtyard that the royal carriage rumbled through a narrow path that ran down the middle of the courtyard and halved the crowd. It was an open carriage whose riders were in plain sight, and the crowd went wild to the sight of the young royal couple. It was a perfect opportunity for the people to demonstrate their profound gratitude to their brave and noble prince. To their future queen they showed their acceptance of having a woman who was once their equal designated to become their ruler.

The previous time so many people in the kingdom had assembled to gather was a celebration of victory at war; today it was a celebration of love. Hundreds of roses, violets and lilies were flung at the carriage by the crowd, so that by the time it reached the monument Aphrodite's dress wasn't a pearly white but a mélange of colors.

The king, the queen, and Aphrodite's parents were already waiting at the altar, as is the case in most weddings of common mortals. Their mutual blessings, and especially the queen's blessing to her successor, provoked a tremendous amount of excitement in the audience and was therefore done theatrically as previously agreed. It was impossible to impose silence on the enormous crowd until the pastor raised his hand and began to rehearse a special sermon he'd composed for the great occasion. But despite his best efforts his words had little impact on the collective memory of the grand event, and even less so on the lovers. It was only when the ceremony reached the stage of the wedding vows that anything worthy of having words written to describe it took place.

It began with the pastor's usual rehearsal of the age-old format that every girl dreams of in her romantic youth days. But sometimes very sweet dreams can divert instantaneously to the realm of nightmares, and this was just one of those times.

You see, there was one man in the giant sea of people that didn’t share the fervor of his surroundings. In fact, he couldn't bear to watch the ecstatic smiles on the young royal couple's faces. Not after everything he'd suffered. Not after he'd been stripped of his dignity while the prince basked in the king of glory that he used to have. He'd waited long for the right time to take his revenge, and he seethed with anticipation as the exact moment drew near. It was his only purpose in having arrived at the courtyard the previous night: to turn the tears of happiness in Aphrodite's eyes to tears of mourning. Mourning for her dead prince.

This vengeful man with his evil intentions was a large man that blended in well with his audience. He had a rather famous face, which if it was recognized would foil his entire scheme so he'd put together a carefully composed disguise. To the rest of the audience, who were too fascinated by the proceedings around the monument to realize any minor aberrations around them, this man was just another zealous commoner with a very peculiar style. His wide-brimmed hat, the scarf around his neck and the smock that hung low over his entire body, were a strange ensemble but just short of suspicious. He was sure to have worn an especially loose-fitting smock so that neither of the hilts of his two swords would bulge from underneath. He'd secured a very good location right behind the parked carriage so that his view of the ceremony was obstructed but more importantly, he would be able to strike almost at once when the time was right. He listened closely with his sharp ears as the vows neared the point at which he'd imagined his surprise revenge take place. Finally, after almost three years of waiting, it arrived:

"If anyone knows any reason why these two should not be wed, let him speak now, or forever hold his peace", rang the pastor's baritone voice, after which there set in a sweet silence. The vengeful man had heard this silence in his dreams and in his fantasies ever since word of the intended marriage had reached his distant ears. Thousands of mouths remained sealed and the moment was prolonged. To them it was the conclusion of a momentous event in the history of the kingdom; to our vengeful man it was the prince's final moments of happiness. Just before the pastor continued, he broke the silence with a rough, hateful exclamation:

"I do!"

A low murmur of confusion rose over the courtyard like a screen of smoke from a giant fire. Everyone was aching to find out who the brazen man was and what justification he had for committing such a vile act tantamount to blasphemy and worthy of the capital punishment. Meanwhile our avenger took advantage of the general confusion and of his superb location, slunk behind the carriage and emerged on the altar right behind the groom. So great was the confusion in the crowd and the desire to solve the mystery that the avenger made his short journey unnoticed and only when he stood behind the prince with his sword drawn did his presence strike the audience. Had he been any less honorable than he was, he should've thrust his sword straight through the groom's fine silk jacket and declared his revenge on the spot. But we've already learned that soldiers often have their own codes of conduct which they adhere to as though they were part of some esoteric religion, and this was why the prince's perfect wedding suit remained unstained for the moment.

"Hello, Prince Conan", the avenger said sharply, and our prince whipped around violently enough to hide the chills that shook his spine at the sound of those words. By the tone of his persecutor's voice he recognized him, and he recognized the mortal danger he was in. A wild panic gripped the crowd and several members of the Guard scrambled to action, but the avenger signaled with the tip of his sword resting on our prince's chest that should they attempt to intervene, the prince's death was a certainty.

"Stay back!" The prince ordered his loyal Guardsmen, who complied and kept a distance from the altar. Then he turned to the man who with a jerk of his arm could end his life.

"Dansalot!" He grunted fiercely. We already know that our prince didn't cower in the face of danger, and at present he showed no fear in the face of certain death. But what one shows is often at odds with what one feels, and for our prince not to have sensed a surge of fear his heart would've had to be made of stone. And prince Conan's heart wasn't made of stone, but of gold.

"I'd promised you we'd meet again. Great swordsmen always stay true to their word", said Dansalot drily, tossing his hat to the ground carelessly.

"Yes, even the most ignominious ones", our prince muttered. "Why are you here?"

A certain halo formed around the two great commanders, which seemed to detach them from their environment. This halo wasn't lost on a single pair of eyes among the thousands watching with consternation, so that even on the altar everyone was a passive viewer.

"I've waited long for this day, my friend. After our little encounter down at the valley I was ridiculed in my kingdom. My soldiers rebelled against me and eventually, as I'm sure you know, I lost my station in the Guard. Everywhere I turned I was reminded of my humiliation; a humiliation that was nothing but an underhanded ruse played by an unscrupulous coward! The people lost their respect for me, and I could no longer bear the shame. I left the kingdom, but news of my defeat had infiltrated every army in the region. I could only be installed as a common soldier- a common soldier! I, Dansalot, feared Captain of the Capital Guard! No, I couldn't find peace there. There was only one way for me to redeem myself, and it is the same way any victim of intentional injustice revives: he takes revenge against his abuser."

There were several cries of terror in the background, but the prince hushed them at once, knowing there was only room for two on stage.

"So this is your redemption? Taking revenge against an unarmed man on his wedding day", our prince scorned even more audaciously. Let's not forget, however, that the more audacious he seemed on the outside, the greater the fear in his heart. He knew Dansalot better than anyone else present, and thus he thought with greater certainty than anyone else's that Dansalot was going to make good on his intentions. As a consequence there was nobody in the kingdom who was as urgently gripped by fear at the moment as our prince.

"No. Do you truly have such low esteem for me?" Dansalot replied with a haughty chuckle. But he didn't leave much time for the audience to get their hopes up, and immediately clarified his statement. He used his left hand to slide the second sword under his smock out of its sheath. Then, without distancing the edge of his the first sword from our prince's chest, he handed him the second one.

"Like I said, I've come to see that justice is done between us. To take you by surprise would be a cowardly act. But this? This is a fair fight between two princes and swordsmen. Take the sword, order your party back and show your people who you really are", Dansalot said. The finality of his proposal sent chills down our prince's back, and he knew he hadn't a choice.

"Everybody clear the ground", he instructed drily.

"For Heaven's sake!" Cried his future wife. "Why would you fight this madman? I'll fight in your place if need be, but I can't bear to see you cross swords with him. There must be another way, my love! " Aphrodite was the only one in the audience who was aware of our prince's still-lacking skills of swordsmanship. (He'd done much to improve them since we've first met him, but a mere few years of practice don't put a mediocre swordsman in any position to challenge a whiz who handles his sword as if it were a magic wand like Dansalot did). And she'd heard of Dansalot many times from both the prince and The Boy, so she realized the scales weren't balanced.

"I wish there were", said our prince with a melancholy sigh, gazing deeply into his beloved's supplicating eyes. "I've already avoided one battle in front of my people. It seems the time has come to pay my dues." By this he was referring to his faked duel with The Boy, a secret he shared only with her. Aphrodite understood this insinuation at once and fell silently supportive of her prince.

With another man he would've perhaps resorted to his well-honed skills of negotiation, but he knew that with Dansalot it was in vain. "Now you'll have to move back, my love. Everyone. From this point forward this is a duel, and any man who interferes will be fair game for both our swords." Everyone obeyed this decisive command but the king, who, prompted by the queen, held his ground.

"This is madness!" He bellowed furiously. "And I won't allow it, son. This is a day for celebration, not for violence. Dansalot! Retreat at once and you shall be allowed to leave the kingdom unharmed. Do it now and I will pardon your opprobrious conduct."

But Dansalot didn't flinch. "To your people you are a king and your word is inviolable", he said calmly, "But to me you are a stranger, and your word is a meaningless noise."

"How dare you!" Our king snapped, and he stepped forward so he was almost aligned with his son, facing the avenger. The whole crowd seemed to take a step toward the altar turned battlefield in protest against Dansalot's act of sacrilege. In a mere few seconds hundreds of frenzied people could be upon him and tear his body to pieces. But the handsome prince was in full control of the situation, and all he had to do was apply a light pressure with the edge of his sword against our prince's chest bone so a tiny trail of blood started to trickle down the blade. At this our prince emitted a moan of pain and surprise, and our king realized that he was stripped of his authority.

"Father, please", our prince rasped, breathing deeply so as to be able to bear the thought that the edge of his avenger's sword was inside him. "Only one prince can live to see the fall of dusk tonight, and there is nothing you can do to change it. It remains for us to decide which of us deserves to be that lucky man. You must accept that this is what God has intended for us, and have faith that he will give me the strength to prevail."

This was the end of the objections, preparations and prevarications, and finally Dansalot wish was fulfilled. He slipped out of his smock to reveal his regal red and blue Guard uniform, slid his sword softly out of the tiny puncture in our prince's flesh, and struck his sword against his rival's as an official sign that the duel has commenced.

"Good luck, prince. May you do your people proud and carry out your God's wishes", Dansalot said snidely.

"I would wish you the same, but your people have forsaken you and it seems you have forsaken God", our prince recriminated to the cheers of the audience. Dansalot laughed and the deadly clanking of metal began. There was no rage in the swordsmen's smooth movements or any ill-will in their thrusts toward each other's hearts. It was a duel between two gentlemen, honoring an arcane code of conduct at the inevitable expense of one of their lives.

The duel was an intense, fascinating one between two excellent swordsmen. Our prince proved to himself and to his people that he mastered his sword with graceful skill just as he mastered his men at the Guard. But in the end even his best efforts and his desire to live, greater now than ever before, couldn't bridge the gap between his skills and Dansalot's. The latter swung his sword as a painter swings his brush across his parchment, and made no mistakes. He was a crafty tactician and gained ground on our prince gradually but surely. A novice spectator wouldn't perceive it, but there was one man in the crowd, a certain Mr. Musashi, who realized from the very beginning that his student was outmatched. Slowly our prince gave ground, slowly his arm tired and his legs weakened, until he could barely deflect his rival's lethal strikes. Then, finally, it came. A direct thrust to his left shoulder, which he knew the moment he saw his rival's chest tilt that he was too slow to parry it. Our prince cried out as a sharp pain streaked through his entire right side. For all his courage and strength of character, he was still human and no human could've borne the pain he felt and the realization that his time had come. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees before thousands of terrified faces. A helpless yelp came from behind and Aphrodite, who unlike the king and queen wasn't familiar with the unbreakable rules that applied to any duel from its starting point until to its very end, lunged forward. But Dansalot repelled her with a single menacing gesture of his sword. The life of our brave prince was now in the hands of his greatest rival.

"You fight well, prince", he said smugly.

"Save us your prideful courtesy", our prince snarled in a voice shaken by the fragility of his body. The blood from his wound was spreading quickly and he was losing strength. But he wouldn't allow his people to remember him as a weak man with a broken spirit. He didn't want her to remember him that way. "If my death will bring you the peace you've been looking for, then do it now. Do it or renounce your evil cause; but if you dare parade before our pain I will order my men to kill you", he said with his right hand pressed against the wound and his knees trembling.

"Is that your way of begging for mercy? The great Prince Conan, gravelling for his life?" Dansalot spurned.

"I will only beg mercy of God. But you- you don't know what mercy is, so what is there to ask? But it seems you're content with your victory, so I will retire now and treat my wound", our prince said and rose to his feet. This was the only way to force Dansalot to make his choice at once while keeping the prince's chances of living.

"You're right", Dansalot said darkly. "I don't know what mercy is."

Our prince had his back to his avenger, but while he stared at his never-to-be future wife he could feel Dansalot's gaze of death fixing on his back. The lovers shared a sweet and bitter smile so fraught with emotion that it alone could take a man's life. It was a smile that at the same time celebrated a sacred love and mourned its loss.

A heavy silence like no other lay upon the thousands as the evil man's blade was thrust toward their prince's defenseless back side. There, under the legendary monument that perpetuated his courage against the same man who was about to end his life, they watched their hero's final moments. In life we may be set oceans apart, masters and slaves, heroes and villains; but in death our corpses are all miserably equal!

Our prince closed his eyes as he heard the swishing sound of the sword slicing through the air. But steel hadn’t yet pierced flesh when a thunderous roar issued from the end of the courtyard.

"Dansalot! Halt!"

If only for the sake of allaying his curiosity, the avenger complied and turned his attention, as did the thousands, to the source of the noise.

It was a man riding his horse at full gallop, the hoofs clicking through the same path the carriage had rumbled down not an hour earlier. A general murmur emerged in the audience, no doubt relating to the identity of the mysterious rider. By the time the horse came to a stop and the rider dismounted the fog had cleared and a deep, low 'Oh!' of astonishment resounded through the entire kingdom.

The greatest astonishment belonged to Aphrodite, whose eyes locked on his. "You're back!" She whispered, her lungs taking in far less air than she required in those moments.

The weakened prince, also breath taken, mouthed something that only the moribund could understand.

"Lieutenant! How nice of you to join us", Dansalot greeted with authentic delight. "And just in time to pay final respects to your Captain."

Our boy, who was deeply saddened but not discouraged by the grimness of the scene, was now a full-grown man. Three years normally don't take a great toll on one's body, and his case was no exception. But his body had been that of a man for many years now, with strong arms, a broad back and a proud chest. What had changed in him were his eyes. They were still blue, deep, and pretty, but they were wiser now. Words are a tool not powerful enough to seize the essence of the transformation, and for one to understand the nature of The Boy's newfound manhood, he would've had to be present among the thousands at the courtyard that day. In any case, The Boy wasn't a boy and there was no mischief left inside him.

He wore neither the clothes of a member of royalty nor those of a Lieutenant. His tattered coat and frayed trousers weren't even fit for a loaner of substantial sums at the trade area. They were the clothes of a humble man from the south who hardly belonged at the center of the attention of the entire kingdom.

"Any last words to the dying man before his body becomes a corpse?" Dansalot said. He was truly delighted by The Boy's appearance, and felt that his revenge was now doubly forceful.

"No. In fact it's you I've come to speak to", said the newcomer sternly.

"Oh? Well be quick, for your prince has expressed his wish for me not to postpone his death. And being the gentleman that I am, I haven't but to oblige such a humble desire."

Since nobody had seen or heard of The Boy for a long time, they didn’t know what to expect of him. What kind of man had he become? There was only one soul, one beating heart that was on the verge of being crushed for the second time, that saw in him our prince's only chance of salvation. And the owner of that soul and heart stared at The Boy with as much love as she had three years earlier.

"I have a proposal to make. An exchange, if you will", said the newcomer with such calm and steadiness of voice that he commanded immediate respect from his addressee.

"A proposal! Surely you don't expect me to fall for your famous trickery a second time", Dansalot said, his sword still pointed at our prince's back.

"Quite the contrary. My current proposal depends on your sharp memory, my friend." With this the poor man had not only the avenger's respect but also his curiosity. He continued:

"As you say, it was my trickery that caused you your downfall, not the prince's honest proposal. Clearly he wanted to avoid a duel with you since you were always the better swordsman. You have proved it just now to him and to his people, and yet you say yourself that I was the true culprit for your humiliation." He was clear and calculated with his words, and this time there was no trick to be played.

"I'm listening", Dansalot said. Our prince in the meantime attempted to reprimand The Boy for his intervention, which some might've found to be to the dishonor of the prince, but he hadn't the strength to speak.

"Kill the prince now and you will have attained only half your revenge. You will be arrested, likely hanged, and remembered as a rogue avenger who found his only consolation in spreading his misery to others. But exchange the life of the prince, whom you've already defeated, disarmed, and nearly dismembered, for a duel with the man whose craftiness is the source of your misery. Spare the life of a prince whom you have a right to kill and whose dignity you've already bruised, and defeat the man- the boy- who outsmarted you once on the battlefield and who's yet to be punished for it. Now there's true revenge! And there is a man whose reputation will bounce back to its onetime heights, and whose memory history shall portray kindly."

Again a pall of silence reigned over the courtyard as the outrageous yet noble, daring yet fair proposal was weighed in the avenger's cooled mind.

"You will cross swords with me, knowing that five minutes from now you will be in the same spot your prince is right now?" He asked suspiciously.

"I will cross swords with you. Defeat me, and you will be entitled to do with me as you like, as is prescribed by the rules of the duel. And the prince, whatever the case me be, lives. There is no trick this time, my friend, but a challenge. I should warn you, however, that you might find in me a far fiercer enemy than my prince", said the man earnestly. Then, as though to further demonstrate the authenticity of his words, he thought to himself:

'I have no wild card hiding in my sleeve, Dansalot. I have only my life to offer, and I serve it to you on a golden plate.'

"If I were to accept your offer and spare your dear prince", Dansalot said with a certain measure of contempt for the man's act of unnecessary sacrifice, "How would I know that my victory was told of? Who's to say that I wouldn't be hanged the moment you fell to the ground and that the truth wouldn't be distorted by these biased witnesses?"

The man pondered this for a moment and responded with the same earnestness that was now ingrained in the very fiber of his being: "Your concern is valid, my friend. But I'm sure it would be allayed if you were given the prince's word that, be the result of our duel what it may, you will be allowed to leave this kingdom unharmed and unimpeded."

"It would. Prince?"

Our prince turned to face the avenger, slowly alternating his enervated glance between him and the man. He still couldn't speak loud enough to be heard, but in his eyes one could easily make out a thorough detestation for what he was requested to do. And truth be told, a word of honor delivered by a man in his state was hardly reassuring.

"Well, it seems the prince doesn't value his life as much as you do-" Dansalot began, but his proclivity to accept the man's offer was too valuable to let slip.

"I grant my endorsement to this man's proposal", rumbled the deep, authoritative voice that belonged to our king. "My son's life in exchange for yours, Dansalot!"

"Father, no!" The prince somehow managed to utter in a meek rasp.

"Quiet, son. The king has spoken."

"So even the king himself is on board. It seems the life of a poor boy isn't very valuable here. Very well, it's no different where I'm from", the avenger said caustically. And it was to the great relief of all the thousands that the exchange was made. There were only four people, four drops in the wide sea of spectators, whose relief was critically diluted by concern for the new challenger. Two were standing at the far end of the courtyard, positioned so badly that they came to know of the proceedings only through the murmurs of the audience that spread their way. The other two were the ones who the man, then a boy, had betrayed three years earlier. They both cast glances filled with gratitude and sorrow at him, and he simply smiled back and bowed gently.

This time there was no prelude to the duel. Dansalot, his tongue wearied by the battle of quips with the prince, saved his sarcasm for when he had the man on his knees. The man, on his part, was glad to leave the games aside and begin.

The man fought well. He was nearly equal to his rival, and several times even forced him back and seemed on the verge of victory before Dansalot regained ground and reprised with a binge of aggression. Knowing this man to be The Boy of the legend of the sword, the audience wasn't surprised by his transcendent performance. Knowing him to be but an amateur swordsman in disguise, our prince and in future wife were in awe. They even dared to begin to hope that the man would prevail against the odds and make that day an even greater celebration than planned.

Alas, hope is fickle and odds are quite stable. It took him at least ten minutes of fierce resistance, but eventually the man, like the prince before him, saw his time come.

It's no secret even to an amateur swordsman that even while on the offensive one must keep his defense up. It's no different in boxing, in a game of chess, or in any competition in which the aim of one party is to destroy the other. Needless to say, the avenger and the man practiced this basic principle exceptionally well. Until the last move of the duel.

It came at a point where the man knew that he'd given his best and sill had found no weakness in his adversary's stand. From this he could only conclude that his defeat was all but certain, and as a consequence that his death was near. He'd gone into battle knowing this to be a very realistic possibility, of course, and so had planned it in advance. He was going to accept his downfall, but he would take his adversary with him.

'It's time', he thought to himself between heavy gasps for air. Then he addressed his thoughts to his rival: 'Here, Dansalot. Look at my left side, which I'm leaving completely open for you. All you need to do is deliver a quick thrust, and I'm yours.' Barely had he finished transmitting these thoughts to the avenger that he saw the latter's blade cutting the air with the speed of a bullet, directed straight at his heart.

'Good move, Dansalot', thought the man. And instead of trying to parry the thrust or deflect it, the man mirrored the avenger's strike and thrust his own sword to the right part of his rival's chest.

"Oh, no!" Whimpered Aphrodite.

'Heavens, no!' Thought our severely wounded but still attentive prince.

Dansalot blade hit first, sinking straight through to the man's heart. But the man's counterstrike had been delivered so swiftly and with such strong impetus that his blade pierced the avenger's chest and came out through the back. Both men toppled to the ground at once, and a pool of their mixed blood formed around them.

There they were, two men fallen from grace, soon to be the victims of each other. Two men who through their own doing had lost that which they valued most. And they'd both taken heart and come to the courtyard in our little kingdom to redeem themselves. They'd both succeeded.

And yet for all their similarities they were set apart a great deal. You see, while Prince Dansalot's corpse lay forgotten in its own blood, our dying boy was wrapped in more love in his final moments than many men are graced with in a lifetime. First to arrive were our prince and his future wife. They knelt at either side of him (the prince with tremendous effort) and cried for him.

"Brother! You fought like a lion!" He whispered, squeezing the dying man's hand with the gentlest, feeblest squeeze a man has ever applied.

"I thought you couldn't fight. You told me you couldn’t fight", Aphrodite added, putting her hand against his cheek.

"I've learned many things in these last three years", the man responded so softly that if a wind had blown while he spoke he wouldn't have been heard. But God was kind to our boy and didn't deny him these last sweet moments.

"But why did you let him do this to you? I know you let him", the prince muttered.

The man smiled meekly. "I tested my strength at first, but I was no match for him. He would've gotten me eventually. I couldn't let him walk out of here with that proud smile of his after all he'd done." At this point the man felt that his quota of final words was drawing to an end, so he insisted on delivering his final message.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to redeem myself. But you two will be happy together. You will be a fine queen, my love", he rasped, almost suffocating in the process.

"But you have redeemed yourself", Aphrodite cried ardently. "Everything you've done has brought happiness to others. The defeat of the Capitals; our love finally breaking out; your loans- the poor people you loaned to have nobody to repay, while that greedy loaner you loaned from has no one to claim his debt from!; mother couldn't be happier with where her gold has gone to; the queen has promised us a journey to Ngoro; and you saved my husband. You see, everything you touch becomes gold! You have nothing more to redeem, my love! You're an angel and heaven awaits you."

At the end of his heartfelt words Aphrodite burst out in tears. The prince collapsed and was soon evacuated to have his wounds attended to. The man's parents arrived running from the back of the courtyard to find a smile of pure happiness on their son's face as he drew his last breaths underneath them. The man was buried that same day in the presence of a crowd no smaller than the one that had gathered for the royal wedding. Prince Dansalot was buried in the mountains, and we don't know where exactly since nobody has ever asked.

A week later the prince married Aphrodite, and in their vows they both mentioned their gratitude and their love for the man. It was, indeed, a fine day in fine times in the fine kingdom.

Since every story, even a bad one, must have a lesson to be learned from, let us offer this: one is never late to seek redemption, so long as he is willing to dig deep within himself.

 

 

 

 

 

End

 

 

 

 

 

 

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 14.01.2014

Alle Rechte vorbehalten