The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) (15 page)

The image of facial muscles quickly overlaid the grinning skull, which was in turn covered by skin. Flesh tones were quickly added to give the image a much more life-like appearance with ears, eyebrows and eye colour adding to the picture.

“Is that an acceptable face for Your Majesty?” Radkor asked. “We can make some very minor adjustments before we proceed with the full treatment.”

The King, struck silent by the handsome face that stared back at him from the Screen, gently ran his claw-like fingers over the image. A great swirling cocktail of emotions ran through his body. There was joy at the sight of such a handsome face mixed with the fear of the unknown. He had grown accustomed to the mask and its feeling of protection. There was excitement and anxiety mixed into the emotional turmoil, but the overwhelming feeling was that of uncertainty.

Sibylla, sitting next to her brother, wanted to reach out and put her arm around his shoulder to comfort and to celebrate. But, as she stared at the image in the Screen, she suddenly felt so unworthy to be his sister and held back from that simple human contact.

“What do you think?” she whispered nervously.

“I never dared to…” the King never finished his sentence as he continued to stare at the face on the Screen.

“You like it?”

“It’s perfect.”

“You don’t think the lips are a bit too full?”

“I don’t care.”

“What about hair?” the Princess asked Radkor.

“I’m afraid that will take time to grow in,” Radkor responded from the control panel, “but the natural colour is dark brown, much like your own, Your Highness.” He punched up some dark brown straggly hair on the image.

“Then, we are content,” the King said with a slow, deliberate nod of his head.

“Very well, Your Majesty,” Radkor said, “we can begin the full treatment, if you would care to step over to the silver square on the floor here.” He indicated the thirty centimetre square teleport pad next to the control panel.

The King rose slowly from the Treatment Chair, wrapping the white cover around his body. As he walked to the teleport pad, a burly Medical Technician carefully escorted the disease ravaged figure. Meanwhile, another Technician set the Treatment Chair to its horizontal setting before taking a Dispenser from his pocket and following the King to the teleport pad. Princess Sibylla, having risen from the side of the Treatment Chair, joined Joscelin in their joint anxious vigil of the situation.

Arriving at the teleport pad, the burly Technician held up the white cover; shielding the King’s body from floor to chest level. The Technician with the Dispenser stepped behind the cover to assist the King with the last of his clothing.

“If Your Majesty would care to remove his remaining robes,” Radkor indicated from the control panel, “we can begin the final phase.”

With a quiet nod, the King began to remove the final loin cloth with his gnarled and twisted fingers, gently assisted by the Technician. As the King fumbled with the garment, Radkor noticed the tension in the Treatment Room step up significantly. For the Princess and Joscelin, it had all seemed to be unreal and fantastical, but now the reality of the situation intruded into their denial. Whatever was about to happen was going to be very real, and the already vulnerable King would be at the mercy of these creatures from another world, creatures whom he trusted so implicitly with his life.

The loin cloth removed, the Dispenser Technician stepped away from the teleport plate with the final garment.

“Stand back everyone,” Radkor warned, allowing the Technicians to move back to a safe distance from the teleport beam. “If Your Majesty would care to close his eyes and count slowly to ten,” he instructed the naked figure behind the white cover.

Watching carefully, Radkor saw the eyes on the ravaged face close slowly and then operated the teleport control.

A quiet mechanical whir sounded from the teleporter followed by a flash of blinding, white light, which filled the Treatment Room for a few moments as the King disappeared from the silver square. The Princess Sibylla gasped, but held her place with Joscelin of Edessa.

Then, after a slow count of ten, the teleporter whirred softly once more, and another blinding flash of light announced the King’s return. With a loud yell of pain, the young man began to topple over on the teleporter pad. The Technician holding the white cover immediately stepped forward to the silver plate and caught the falling body of the newly transformed King before he collapsed to the floor. The second Technician then moved forward quickly to administer the pain relief whilst the first Technician bodily lifted the young King and carried him to the flattened Treatment Chair.

“Brother!?” Princess Sibylla said anxiously and stepped nervously towards the Treatment Chair as the Technician gently set the near-unconscious young man down, and arranged the white cover to preserve his modesty. The second Technician, meanwhile, was running a hand-held Med-Scanner over the King and monitoring the results.

“Textbook treatment, sir,” the second Technician reported. “No sign of any rejection of the new tissue and the peripheral nerves are regenerating rapidly.”

“Brother?” the Princess nervously asked once again, approaching the Treatment Chair and lifting the now normal looking hand in her own and staring at the repaired face.

“Your Highness, His Majesty must sleep now,” Radkor said, patiently stepping away from the control panel. “His body has undergone some major changes and he must rest.”

“But, he cried out!?”

“All the peripheral nerves in his body that were killed off by the leprosy are now regenerating. It will be very painful for him, so we must sedate him and let nature take its course.”

“But, he will be…” Sibylla asked unable to verbalise the question fully for fear that her brother might die.

“His Majesty will be fine, Your Highness. Look at his face, his chest and his arms. The treatment went perfectly, Your Highness.”

“Sister?” the young King said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What is it?”

Looking down at the unblemished form that lay before her, Sibylla smiled as the tears flowed down her face once more. Her brother may have been bald as an egg, but the lesions, the ulcers, the dead and dying skin and the hideous face were all gone. And Princess Sibylla silently gave thanks to her God for her brother’s deliverance.

“Am I beautiful again?”

“You were always beautiful, my brother,” she choked back a sob and, kissing his hand, smiled through her tears, “they’ve brought you back to us again.”

“Here, hold the screen up to His Majesty,” Radkor instructed the Princess, passing the screen that had shown the King the model of his new face.

“There do you see, brother?” Sibylla smiled tearfully as she held the screen up to show him the live video image of his newly repaired features.

“Praise be to God,” the young King sighed with his first smile and succumbed to the sedation.

Gently running her hand over the newly repaired and hairless scalp, Sibylla smiled and kissed her brother’s forehead before collapsing across his stomach and chest, sobbing quietly. With one of the Medical Technicians trying to pull the Princess away, Joscelin of Edessa finally surrendered to his own emotions. With a great gasping sob, Joscelin’s knees finally buckled as he fell backwards against the wall and slowly slid down to sit on the cold, hard deck floor.

He had dared to dream of this moment. And, now it had arrived. The young King made whole again would usher in a new era for the Kingdom of Jerusalem. The clever, brave young King, with wisdom beyond his years, could marry now. Some not so minor European Princess would be found to bear him children. An heir, Joscelin imagined, sobbing quietly as he held his head in his hands, a son and heir to sit on the throne. An heir who would found a dynasty of Kings and Queens of Jerusalem. With the succession secured, the Saracens would never dare to threaten Jerusalem again. The nobles would be firmly put in their place once more; their plotting and scheming punished by the strong and intelligent young monarch who now lay unconscious in front of Joscelin.

The King was reborn and the Kingdom would be safe, Joscelin smiled as he sobbed, lost in his own thoughts. And, Joscelin of Edessa would be the King’s most loyal servant.

Long live the King!

The Templar Camp on the road from Acre to Jerusalem, May 13
th

“Brother Arnold,” a voice called from the darkness beyond the tent flap as Arnold of Torroja tapped the point of his dagger pensively on the map spread out before him.

Under the flickering light of the pair of candles stationed on either side of the small table, Arnold pushed the model ships down the coast closer towards Jerusalem.

“What is it?”

Everything was going exactly to plan for Arnold. There had been no sign of scouts from the Army of Jerusalem and no one had made any attempt to impede their path from Acre. The ships sailing down the coast were very prominent whilst the land contingent was kept secret; Arnold having made sure that his men went ashore at every opportunity to spend money amongst the local villages and settlements. News would be filtering back to Jerusalem of the Templar fleet sailing from the north. Baldwin and his lackeys would be scratching their heads about what to do, Arnold considered. If they were challenged before Jerusalem, they could easily say that they were taking supplies to Templar settlements in the south.

“A messenger from Lord Amalric!”

“Oh, very well, let him enter.”

A moment later, a well-dressed knight was allowed to enter Arnold’s tent.

“My Lord Arnold,” the knight bowed and made his abeyance, “I bring news from Lord Amalric.”

“What is your news, messenger?” Arnold said as politely as he could muster in the face of a man he considered a heathen.

“My Lord Amalric has instructed me to tell you that he is ready to march to the estate of Muscigny as you have ordered.”

“Is this all?”

“My Lord Amalric also tells me to pass onto you that he has nearly ten thousand men from the Jerusalem garrison. The King will be led to believe that he is holding up your force marching from Acre, whilst the King protects the coast.”

That’s more like it, Arnold considered. Baldwin wouldn’t dare to march off with part of the Jerusalem garrison without a good excuse and the option to cover his own back. If things didn’t work out to plan, Amalric could claim he was challenging the Templars to protect Jerusalem’s territory.
But, that was the way of political intrigue,
Arnold shrugged. At least Amalric was now ready in Jerusalem, and Baldwin had been completely fooled.

“That is excellent news.” Arnold smiled, tapping the dagger point on the map. “In six days we will join forces at Muscigny.”

“Is there a reply for My Lord Amalric?”

“Please convey to Lord Amalric my compliments, my respects, and my admiration for his great feat of intrigue. Please also tell him that we shall meet at Muscigny amidst great rejoicing.”

“My Lord.” The messenger bowed and backed away to the tent flap.

“De Lancy!” Arnold called out to his aide-de-camp. “See that this man is fed, rested, refreshed and gold coins put in his purse!”

“You are most generous, My Lord,” the messenger praised as the tent flap opened and he was ushered out of Arnold’s presence.

“Amalric is ready to march,” Arnold mumbled and placed a wooden block with a painted cross symbol on icon for Jerusalem.

Picking up a similar block with a Templar cross, Arnold set it on the road south east of Acre. A third block with a Crown painted on it was placed on the coast close to the symbol for Jerusalem.
The day after tomorrow Amalric will march from Jerusalem
, Arnold smiled as he surveyed his strategy fitting together perfectly. Baldwin was completely oblivious to what he was planning, and within four days he would be marching into Jerusalem in triumph whilst the King languished on the coast waiting for an invasion that would never come. It was all working perfectly, Arnold considered as he set the dagger down on the map and blew out the two candles.

Kneeling down to prayer, Arnold gave thanks to God for the forthcoming victory over those who had strayed from the true faith. When both Saladin and Baldwin had fallen, Arnold promised that the streets of Jerusalem would run red with the blood of Infidels. It would be a bigger massacre than had taken place during the fall of the city just over eighty years before. The Muslims and the Jews would have a choice of converting to the true faith or would die. And, no one was going to be able to stop him, he rejoiced quietly. Crossing himself before retiring to bed, Arnold failed to see, in the darkness of his tent, that the point of the dagger was placed just over the small symbol on the map for the estate of Muscigny.

The Muscigny Estate, May 14
th

The following morning, Billy Caudwell was sitting beside the well on the south western corner of the estate, next to the wide dirt road that ran from Acre to Jerusalem, lost in thoughts of home. Close by, Lothar; the former thief from the streets of Jerusalem, was busy constructing the low wall that divided the roadway from the estate grounds. A slow but steady trickle of merchants and travellers wandered along the wide dusty roadway under the perfect blue sky. Camels, horses and donkeys grumbled under their burdens of cargo or passenger as they plodded slowly past. Lothar, despite the heat of the late morning sun, struggled and toiled ceaselessly with finishing the stretch of wall that he had been assigned to complete.

Despite his less than promising introduction to the estate, Lothar had fitted in and adapted well to the new opportunity that had been presented to him. His sharp eye for details, earned from finding and dodging down alleyways and escape tunnels, plus a strong back and shoulders, made him an excellent wall builder. Lothar had quickly developed the knack of understanding which stones could easily fit together to form a stable structure. And, in a few short weeks, several dozens of metres of tightly packed stones gave testimony to his skill and industry.

As Lothar toiled away, seemingly without tiring, Billy Caudwell’s mind drifted off to thoughts of home. He had never been away from home, and his parents, for more than a few weeks. Now he had been absent for over a month. However, Billy knew that his Thexxian double, Jedithram Proust, would still be maintaining the illusion of his presence on Planet Earth. Strangely, it was only when he was able to sit down alone, and away from the pressures of running the estate and repairing the Aquarius, that Billy felt that he missed his mother and father. No doubt they would be arguing about something, he considered. They always seemed to be arguing, but it had only been since Billy had implanted his parents with the Mind Profiles of a famous Garmaurian writer and an inventor. Now, despite the financial success which should have been the end to all their problems, they seemed to be fighting worse than ever. Something had gone wrong, Billy contemplated. Perhaps, it was a fault with the implanting process, he speculated, and lifted a small handful of the loose dusty soil that had once been prevalent throughout the estate.

The estate was now quickly gaining boundary walls with deep ditches to channel the water from the synthesiser buried in the well of the Citadel. Thousands of litres of water flowed daily through the kilometres of underground pipes; carved out of the rock by laser drills, which were now irrigating the rectangular fields. In a few weeks, Billy considered, the ground would be ready for the plough and the first sowing of seeds. In his mind’s eye, Billy could already see the wheat and barley waving in the gentle wind as the happy workers weeded and harvested the bounty of the land. Casting the dusty soil to the feeble breeze, Billy turned his attention to Lothar.

“How are you getting on with that wall, Lothar?” Billy asked cheerily.

“Well, Master,” the nervous, smiling wall-builder rose from his knees and bowed a sharp bob to the lord of the Muscigny estate.

“You seem to have real talent for this wall building, Lothar, I think we’ve found your role in life. No one is going to push that over in a hurry.”

“Yes, Master.” Lothar smiled shyly, pleased with the compliment.

“So, how are you getting on with your letters and numbers?”

“The letters I can do, the numbers, not so good, Master.”

The painful squeal of rubbing metal announced the arrival of Hassan the donkey on his Contraption. Plodding towards the well, Hassan was on his daily tour of inspection. With his hind leg healing, the mobility of the Contraption allowed Hassan to roam freely over the estate, which he did with great determination and at great speed.

“Hey, big fella, have you escaped from Khalil again?” Billy asked the donkey as he trotted doggedly towards the well and began to drink from the large wooden trough. “You know that Khalil worries about you, don’t you?” Billy scratched the drinking donkey’s ears.

Suddenly, the donkey raised his head from the water and stared down the roadway. With his eyes intently fixed on four horsemen that were approaching from the south, Hassan began to paw the ground with his front hoof.

“Steady, big fella, what’s the matter?” Billy asked as the donkey continued to drum his hoof on the ground.

It took Billy only a few moments to focus on the approaching strangers and to sense that trouble would follow these four horsemen.

“Greetings stranger,” a one of the travellers greeted Billy as the four approached.

“Greetings to you,” Billy replied with an insincere smile and a feeling of unease starting to creep into his bones.

The four horsemen, all armed with swords and shields, brought their horses over to the well.

“Can we rest and water our horses here, stranger?”

“The water’s free, your time is your own, and you can get food and grain for your animals in the Citadel.”

“My thanks to you, stranger.”

Beside him, Billy felt Hassan still pawing at the ground as the other three horsemen dismounted.

Scrutinising the new arrivals, Billy could see that the all wore the same pale red surcoat over chain mail armour, which bore an indistinct gryphon or lion motif. From the way the four scruffy and unshaven men moved, Billy could immediately judge that they were experienced warriors. All four men studiously avoided Billy’s gaze as they retrieved their reins and began to lead their horses to the trough. The cold blank look in the eyes also spoke of professional killers.

“Where are you heading to then, gentlemen?”

“We’re heading up to Acre,” the leader responded as his horse dipped its head into the trough.

“That’s a long trip.”

That morning, one of the Scanner Technicians had spotted a large body of men moving down the road from Acre. Closer inspection had shown that the large group of about twenty-five thousand people were liveried for the Knights’ Templar Order. The next overhead pass of the surveillance satellite would give Billy some idea of their progress and potential destination. At the moment they were no threat, but the Scanners and security people would be keeping a close eye on them.

“Yes, but our orders are to bring Lord Gilbert’s sister back home.”

“Go on, Hassan.” Billy patted the donkey’s rump to chase him away from what Billy expected to be trouble.

With a slow deliberate squeaking, Hassan moved away back towards the Citadel. And, as the donkey slowly plodded off, Billy issued the thought command via his Personal Environment Suit to alert the Landing Trooper ground patrol that assistance was likely to be required. With that alarm issued, Billy issued a second thought command to institute full force-shielding on his PES.

As Billy issued the command, Lothar rose to his feet watching the horsemen suspiciously. His instincts, from his many years of thieving and survival, were also tingling. Billy knew that in a fight, his PES would protect him. However, Lothar had no such safeguard. If trouble was to break out, Billy’s primary objective would be to keep the wall-builder safe. The alarm had been issued to the Security Details, but they would take a few minutes to reach the well from the Citadel or the Aquarius.

“Actually, friend,” the leader of the horsemen began, “we should pay our respects to the Lord of the estate to thank him for his hospitality and generosity.”

“That would be me then, my friend.”

“Well, My Lord.” The viciously grinning leader bowed in mock salute. “Thank you for your kindness,” he added and drew the broadsword at his left hip.

The other three horsemen also drew swords and formed a loose semi-circular chain with their leader. From the corner of his eye, Billy caught sight of Lothar lifting a heavy stone in his right hand.

If there was going to be a fight, the big, strong ex-thief was going to be the best ally Billy could hope for. His years of stealing and street fighting had made Lothar a formidable fighter in a tight corner.

“My Lord, we have orders to make sure that we control the Citadel and that means that you are not needed.”

“Is that right?”

Lothar stepped forward onto Billy’s right to face the horseman at the extreme left of the opponents’ line.

From his years of surviving on the streets of Jerusalem, Lothar understood that if Billy was killed then these men would want no witnesses left alive. That meant that he would also be killed by these dangerous strangers. Lothar very much wanted to live now that he had met a pretty young woman named Rebekkah. He was looking to make a future for himself at Muscigny. And, for the first time in his life, Lothar had something worthwhile to fight for other than his own personal survival.

“Yes, My Lord, it’s got to be done, it’s nothing personal.” The stranger smiled wickedly and raised the sword to strike a vicious downward blow.

However, as Billy raised his left arm to block the expected blow, the loud squeaking and squealing of metal was interrupted by an animal bellow as Hassan barged into the rear of the leading horseman at full tilt. As if struck by a hammer, the leader promptly fell forwards, straight into a vicious force-shielded punch from Billy’s right hand that sent the horseman sprawling, blood flowing from his ruined nose and mouth. With the other horsemen diverted for just a split second, Lothar swung the heavy rock in his hand and connected with the left temple of the horseman in front of him. Even with a chain mail helmet, the horseman got the full impact of the rock and fell sideways as if he had been pole-axed.

Hassan had provided that split-second distraction that could determine the outcome of any battle. And, having written off the wall-builder as just another peasant with no fighting ability, the strangers were now about to pay the price for their arrogance. Lothar had learned to fight in the gutters of Jerusalem with anything he could find to hand. Now, he had some military training from the Landing Troopers and the old soldiers on the estate, and would prove to be a formidable warrior.

With the leader and one horseman already down, the odds were much better for Billy, Lothar and Hassan now. Lunging at the closest horseman, Billy could see a sword raised against Hassan for a vicious strike to the side of his head. The donkey, oblivious to the danger, was turning his Contraption as Billy caught the falling sword arm, and, placing his foot behind the swinging horseman, pushed him over onto his back. As the horseman was falling, Billy caught sight of Hassan dropping onto his front legs from the Contraption and lashing out with both of his hind feet to connect with the lower jaw of the final horseman.

With a sickening crunch of bone and teeth, the sword-wielding horseman was flung backwards as if he had been fired from a gun, landing in an unconscious sprawling heap several metres behind the kicking donkey. The horseman, who Billy had just pushed over, was falling backwards, his arms flailing and sword swinging. As the horseman hit the ground with his back, Billy twisted the wrist of the fallen man, straightening the arm before jamming his boot into the fallen man’s armpit. With a loud wrenching sound, Billy twisted hard, forcing a scream of pain and the dropping of the sword. And, as the sword fell, Billy heard the loud triumphant HEE-HEE-HEE-HAAAAAWW of the victorious Hassan as he threatened to trample the semi-conscious leader of the group he had butted into the path of Billy’s flying fist. The stricken leader, bloodied and bruised, tried to scramble away from the enraged donkey, who just would not let him get to his feet. As Billy kicked away the fallen sword, Lothar appeared with a captured weapon to threaten the struggling and scrambling leader.

“Can I kill him, Master?” Lothar asked determinedly as Landing Troopers began to arrive on the scene.

“Much as I’d like to say ‘yes’, Lothar, I want them all alive for interrogation,” Billy said, passing over custody of his agonised cringing prisoner to a Landing Trooper whilst dropping the force-shielding on his PES.

“You all right, sir?” a visored Troop Sergeant asked as the other three horsemen were taken into custody.

“Yes, quite all right, Sergeant,” Billy responded as he watched Lothar being gently disarmed by another Trooper, “take these ‘individuals’ to the Hospital Decks, get them sorted out and then hand them over to Officer Garn for interrogation.”

“Hassan!” Billy called over the courageous donkey who trotted proudly over. “Sergeant, I want to know everything about these men, especially who sent them and why.”

“Sir.”

“And, Sergeant, you can inform Officer Garn to use any methods he deems necessary. I want to know what we’re dealing with here, and take those horses up to the stables; they’re ours now.”

“Very good, sir,” the Troop Sergeant responded as Billy took hold of one of the straps that held Hassan into the Contraption in his left hand.

“Lothar! Come on! Let’s get you and Hassan checked out and then get some food.”

“But, the wall, Master?”

“It’ll still be there tomorrow, Lothar, come on that’s enough excitement for one day.”

With a shrug, Lothar fell into step on Billy’s right as they trudged away to the Star Cruiser.

“Master?” Lothar asked sheepishly.

“What is it?” Billy replied, gently guiding the plodding donkey.