Sir Bentley and Holbrook Court (6 page)

“Who are you?” Bentley whispered.

“Shur…Emus.”

The man spoke slowly, but Bentley struggled with the sounds. He shook his head.

Demetrius tried again. “Oble… Ike.”

Bentley shook his head again. “I'm sorry. I just don't understand.”

The man walked over to Bentley and placed his four fingers on the emblem of Bentley's tunic—the emblem of the Noble Knights. He then pointed to his own chest. “Oble… Ike,” he repeated.

“Noble Knight?” In a flash of illumination, Bentley's eyes opened wide as he came to understand who was standing before him. “Sir Demus!”

The gray-bearded man nodded. Bentley's mind erupted with a thousand memories and questions. He was briefly overcome with joy and hugged the older man. He had been just a lad when his father's friend Sir Demus disappeared, but Bentley remembered him well.

He released his embrace and looked into Demus's eyes. They brimmed with tears.

“It is good to see you, sir!”

Demus pointed to himself, then to his eyes, and then to Bentley.

“I have so much to ask you,” Bentley said.

Demus nodded. “We have ma-eey ays.” He held his hands wide apart.

“Many days…yes. This is good.” Bentley smiled broadly, nearly giddy with excitement at being able to talk with the one he had thought of so often. “But what happened to you? They say you were killed.”

Demus motioned toward the table, and they sat down. Demus spoke slowly and struggled with many of the sounds, but with a little practice, Bentley was able to understand most of the words. For those he could not understand, Demus had a quill, ink, and parchment ready to write them down for Bentley. Conversing was a somewhat arduous process, but Bentley was patient. He wanted to know everything.

“I refused to be part of the plot to kill the Prince,” Demus said. It was odd and powerful for Bentley to hear a former Noble Knight call the Stranger by that name.

Demus shook his head. “I should have done more to stop it. I was too… afraid. But then, after they killed Him, I knew my days as a Noble Knight were over. I could not belong to an order that had murdered the One I'd come to believe was the Son of the King. I began to help the Followers, and Kifus became furious. The Noble Knights eventually tried me for treason and found me guilty. Rather than kill me, they cut out my tongue so I could not speak of the Prince. Then they cut off my thumbs so I could not carry a sword for His cause. I was beaten and cast out of the city. My home was taken, and my family became outcasts as well. I was made an example for other Noble Knights who were questioning their mission.”

“And yet you still believe in this man—the… the Prince?”

“I faced His sword once, and He could have killed me in an instant.
Instead, He spared my life. I will never forget looking into His eyes. For one brief moment, it was as if I could see the future of the whole kingdom.” Demus paused and placed a hand on Bentley's arm. “One day when you look into His eyes, you will know what I mean.”

“Deep in my heart, I've known it all along,” Bentley said quietly. “I knew it because I watched how the death of this man changed my father. And I knew it because I've watched the Followers and have seen great passion in them for sharing the story of this man with others, even risking their lives to do so. Men like you, Sir Demus.”

The old man shook his head sorrowfully. “I was too much of a coward to stand up for Him during His trial… and execution. And yet He's accepted me as one of His loyal knights.”

Bentley stared into the distance, but at nothing in particular as he thought about the incredible courage of the Followers he'd seen. He was sitting here today because of such courage. They were an odd mix of mighty and meek, rich and poor, citizens and Outdwellers. Their bond to one another because of the Stranger seemed to transcend any order or societal status.

Bentley looked at Demus. “You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, Sir Demus. In spite of your fear, you chose to follow the Stranger, and it has cost you dearly.” Bentley thought he himself had given up everything to find the truth, but here was a man who had given even more not just to discover the truth but to follow it. There was a significant difference, and Bentley now understood it.

“The Prince suffered and died for the people of Arrethtrae,” Demus said. “My cost is nothing compared to His. By coming to this land, to these people, He gave up everything!”

Bentley slowly shook his head. “I've heard so little about this man, mostly from the Noble Knights. I need to know more. I need to know the truth!”

Demus smiled. “The Council of Knights asked me to discover the truth of your intentions, but I knew they were honest even before I saw
you, for I knew your father well. He is a good man, and I believe in his heart he knows the truth.”

“Father always spoke very highly of you.” Bentley smiled briefly then lowered his gaze to the table as he thought of his parents. Were they now suffering for his actions?

Demus put a hand on his shoulder. “Seeking and discovering the truth always costs something, Bentley. But you must never forget—a pauper with the truth is better off than a wealthy man living under deception. Lucius, the Dark Knight, is the father of all deception in the kingdom, and he will stop at nothing to try and destroy the truth of the Prince.”

“But who is—?” Bentley began, then dropped the question. He wanted to know more but sensed that Demus was strained in his efforts to communicate so much in such a short time. He imagined that Demus had said and written more today than he had in months.

They settled into the cabin, and Bentley made his bed in the loft. After cutting firewood and eating an evening meal, Bentley ended the day with a hundred new thoughts to dwell upon. Every one of them brought him to the large oak tree in the city square in Chessington and the man who once hung there.

The voice of truth seemed to whisper louder than ever this night.
What will you do with the Prince?
it asked over and over.

The following morning Bentley and Demus sat down for breakfast.

“Sir Demus, why did we need to come this far from Chessington? Couldn't we have met much closer?”

“You don't realize how desperate Kifus is to destroy the Followers. His search for you will be extensive. Even this place may not be secluded enough.”

Demus took another small bite of his barley cake and a large drink of water to mix with it as he chewed. He swallowed carefully and looked up at Bentley.

“You are the son of a wealthy and respected Noble Knight. Kifus will stop at nothing to keep from creating another man like Sir Gavinaugh.”

“Sir Gavinaugh? You mean Sir Gavin? You've met with Sir Gavin?” Bentley asked.

Demus nodded. “He is called Sir Gavinaugh now. The Prince gave him a new name. I remember when he stood in my home and told me how foolish I was to believe in the Stranger. He said I would lose everything, and he was right.” A broad smile spread across his face. “Now Gavinaugh is turning the kingdom upside down for the cause of the Prince. Yet Arrethtrae still has not yet seen what mighty works could be done by one knight wholly committed to the Prince.”

Demus pointed a finger toward Bentley. “Kifus sees that potential in you, which is why he will be ruthless in hunting you down. But remember, Bentley, Kifus is just an ignorant pawn of one much more powerful than he. It is the Dark Knight and his Shadow Warriors you must be wary of. The real battle lies with them, and they are everywhere!”

After each discourse Bentley had with Demus, he felt more satisfied with the truth but less comfortable with his life. There was so much more to understand. As the days passed, Bentley loved the time he spent with Demus. His eyes were opened to a world of answers that put all of the chaos of the kingdom in order. They talked of the King, the Prince, and the knights of old; of the Dark Knight, Lucius; of his Shadow Warriors and his Arrethtraen lieutenants, the Vincero Knights.

With each story, Bentley found a sense of true purpose taking shape in his own heart. A passion to serve the King and the Prince welled up so mightily within his soul that ill circumstances could never quench it nor wrest it from his heart.

Bentley remained with Demus through the mild winter and cherished the wisdom and training of his mentor. On two occasions, Demus took Bentley to the haven at Thecia where he trained with and benefited from the brotherhood of knights there. Demus also seemed to enjoy the reprieve from the labor of daily communicating answers to the countless questions Bentley asked.

Much to Bentley's surprise, Demus also found opportunity to train
him further with the sword. Demus had fashioned an iron “thumb” that he inserted into his right gauntlet and secured to his wrist with a leather strap. The curved shape allowed him to adequately grip various items, including his sword. Bentley initially held back on the strength of his cuts and slices until he realized that Demus had been able to compensate amazingly well. Bentley learned much from Sir Demus in the course of their training, for the man was a very skilled swordsman.

On a pristine evening of a beautiful spring day, Demus and Bentley paused their sparring to absorb the delightful sights and sounds that surrounded them. They stood on a lush, grassy ridge line as the beauty of the kingdom paraded by. The red and orange light from the setting sun danced off the clouds and painted the Boundary Mountains in an array of hues. It reminded Bentley of the sunsets he had once enjoyed from his terrace back home.

“Bentley, your skills are far beyond that of your age and experience,” Demus said in his halting way.

“Thank you, Sir Demus. You are an excellent tutor.”

Demus shook his head to the contrary. “I have only honed your skills a bit; most of your training was already accomplished.”

Bentley turned to look at Demus. He was staring off into the distance toward Holbrook. Bentley's respect and admiration for this man had grown tremendously, and he was grateful for these past months of mentoring.

“Sir Demus, I know that all you have told me is true. I have come to believe that this Stranger is indeed the Son of the King.” He hesitated. “I am ready to pledge my allegiance to the Prince.”

Bentley had given an oath to the order of the Noble Knights, and he knew that this would countermand that oath, for it was in opposition to and superseded by the supreme authority of the King. There would be no other oaths to take, and he understood the ramifications of this bold move.

Demus turned and smiled. “Then kneel.”

Bentley looked at him in surprise. “This can be done right here… by you?”

The older man nodded, smiling gently.

Bentley knelt, and Demus drew his sword.

“Do you believe that the Prince is the Son of the King? that He came to Arrethtrae and died that you might live? that He sits on the right hand of the King and will return one day to rule the land? Do you swear your allegiance to Him and to Him alone?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to uphold the Code and to live a life of truth, justice, and honor?”

Bentley could not help remembering the last oath he had taken, kneeling before Kifus. This time he did not hesitate nor question his future.

“I do!”

Demus placed the flat of his sword on Bentley's shoulder.

“I dub thee Sir Bentley, Knight of the Prince!”

Years of listening to the whispers of his heart and wrestling with the call of the Noble Knights came to that one simple act, and it changed everything for Bentley. He rose, and the two men embraced as brothers.

“I owe you much, my friend,” Bentley said.

Demus shook his head. “You owe me nothing, but you owe the Prince your life.”

Bentley thought about the Prince and became silent.

“What is it?” Demus asked.

“The Prince stripped Himself of His royal rights and privileges and became a pauper to save the people of Arrethtrae. It is hard to imagine such great… compassion for others. I was born a wealthy man and even now wear the garb of a nobleman. I can see that such wealth could keep many from following the Prince.”

“You speak the truth,” Demus said. “The comforts of this kingdom keep many from Him, especially the wealthy.”

Bentley looked out across the land as the remnant light of the sunset faded away. His eyes came to rest on Holbrook once more. In the dusk he could see the lighted lamps of the village and the castle.

Before becoming a Knight of the Prince, Bentley had wondered what mission he would be given if he decided to follow Him. But now he realized his mission was not as great as he had imagined, but one as lowly as the Prince Himself had chosen.

“I want to follow in the footsteps of the Prince,” Bentley said.

Demus looked at him. “Of course—that is what a Knight of the Prince always aspires to do.”

“No, Demus, I mean I want to become a pauper as He did. I want to live among those I am now charged to bring to the King through the Prince. How can I reach the common people of Arrethtrae if I have never been one?”

Demus put a hand on Bentley's shoulder. “It is a heart like yours which the King and His Son seek.”

Bentley took a deep breath and marveled at how much strength it took to choose to become poor. Could he do this? Did he have what it took to truly give up everything he knew in order to follow someone he had never actually met?

It was then that he realized that the Prince was not the Stranger, as the Noble Knights had called Him for years, for He had made Himself known to anyone who would listen. Rather, it was the Noble Knights who were strangers, for they would never loosen their grip on the power and wealth of their positions and join in the plight of the commoners who struggled around them. Even his beloved father and mother remained trapped in their home, walled off by fear—strangers to the truth.

“I want to know You, my Prince,” he whispered. “I want to follow You, no matter the cost. My heart is Yours, my life is Yours, my sword is Yours. Whatever happens, my Prince, please don't be a stranger to me.”