When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Easier said than done, the king thought to himself when he heard another knock at the door to his chamber. It was the fortieth year of his reign and it wasn’t getting any easier. Life has been putting him on trial since the day his father died of a heart attack enjoying the company of his courtisane and he became the king. Good that his old mother didn’t see his actions, as she had been then long time dead. Well, who would have blamed the king’s father? Women at a certain age reminded him more of pantry furniture than anything to possess, be passionate about, or be the reason to take part in duels. Even when he looked at his beloved wife, he noticed this unfairness of the world. When they got married, she was a sixteen-year-old blossoming petite blond flower, now she was a stout woman of advanced age, who fought not for love but for beetroots, wheat, eggs, chicken, and pigs. She was the one to manage taxes taken from the peasants. She was running the kingdom, he was running the war. And when in the evening she lied next to him, opened her mouth and attacked him with the smell of onions and garlic, he wasn’t at all surprised that his father enjoyed the company of maidens half his age.
But now he had other matters to worry about. It was the middle of the war. A few battles were won, but the enemy didn’t say his last word. He had fought with the Hungarians, with the Checks, but the Turks were an entirely different matter. It was a different breed of humans, used to different fights, different climate, and altitude. Yet, they proved a tough nut to bite. Especially for someone his age, who has already started losing teeth.
‘Finally!’, he exclaimed, seeing a hunched figure in a greyish coat approaching him with fear, ‘Come quickly!’
The soothsayer was almost blind, his eyes were covered with white fog. He was old and wrinkled like one day would be the king. Or even earlier if he decided to go mad due to everything he was supposed to deal with.
‘My King, why have you called for me?’
‘I want to know the future, Erwin, I want you to see and tell me what you see!’
The king didn’t ask about details, but Erwin’s methods were questionable. This time he threw on the floor bones (possibly human), rabbit’s intestines, war scalp taken from one of the Turks, handfuls of herbs, unknown to the king, and silver and gold medals with pagan symbols.
Yes, the king was a Christian king, and the kingdom was officially Christian, and yes, if the bishop knew what the king was about to do there would be another war, this time possibly a civil crusade, but the time was critical and the king had no other choice. Relying solely on the Church was pointless. Monks and priests ate and drank, took a big amount of gold from the taxes, and carried out sermons, but they were useless when it came to fighting a battle or winning a duel. They started off as whiny little boys to become round and well-fed know-it-alls. They also stole some girls, who decided to enter the nunnery, and that was for the king the last blow. He bit his lip, didn’t comment on the impoverished army share, and some priests’ big bellies, but he looked at members of the clergy as old perverts enjoying the privileged life of religion. And now these Turks! Life didn’t get any easier.
‘And the virgin, my King?’
The king rolled his eyes. Another pervert. He was sure that old Erwin needed a virgin just to appease the appetite of his old and hungry blind eyes.
‘Bring me Jana!’, the king shouted through the door.
‘Jana is no longer of use!’, the knight behind the door shouted back, ‘Married last week!’
‘Married? How old is she?’
‘Fifteen, my King.’
‘Is there any young maiden here that could still be a virgin? If not, I will call my daughter!’
There was a muted laughter that broke the silence of the corridor. The king had heard the rumors and if there wasn’t smoke without fire, she had at least a few knights on her conscience. Yes, Princess Karina might have inherited her mother’s looks, but she most definitely inherited her grandfather’s temper and his appetite for trouble.
‘Then bring me any virgin!’
They were waiting for an hour. Old Erwin started biting his nails, the king was walking anxiously from wall to wall until he sat down on his throne. Finally, two knights entered the chamber with a seven-year-old child.
‘Is this a joke? We don’t have any more virgins?’
‘I wouldn’t trust them, my King. They don’t save themselves so eagerly.’
The king rolled his eyes, Erwin looked disappointed, but he approached the girl, pulled her hand, and stretched it over the pile of bones, medals, and intestines. He stung it with the knife and poured a few drops of blood from the girl’s veins. The girl started crying. The king told the knight to take her to the kitchen and give her some sweets to cheer her up.
‘Yes? What do you see?’
Erwin looked at the pile with his white eyes. He looked at it and his mouth began opening wider and wider the more he watched. He ran to the door and escaped through it screaming madly.
‘Hell! We are all lost! War! Flood! Monsters! Fire! Hell!!!’
The king was left with a pile in the middle of the chamber, wondering who would be brave enough to clean it.
The same day knight Gwidon arrived with even more pessimistic news.
‘The Prince is lost, my king!’
‘Is he dead?’
‘No, he’s lost. We couldn’t find the body after the battle, he might have been kidnapped.’
The king knew that Prince Gustaw was no good for the battle, but it was to be his first battle and the king gave distinct orders to put him in the last row of knights, to make him be a part of the enterprise, let’s say for reasons of experience, but making sure that he wouldn't be killed. Gustaw was more inclined to a slightly more delicate physical exercise, possibly archery, he was better at taking care of himself than actually fighting any battle at all. And now, his first serious war, his first serious battle, and he got himself lost. Typical. If he got himself dead, the queen would never forgive the king that he had sent him there in the first place and risked the life of their only son.
Knight Gwidon looked at the painting of Prince Gustaw, which was hanging behind the king, glimpsed at his curly black hair, his posed appearance, his ornamented clothes, his tight stockings, and smiled to himself. He remembered Prince Gustaw from youthful knights training. If there was an epitome of the word pathetic, it was Gustaw. He was destined rather for female tasks: embroidery, music, painting, synchronic dancing, maybe theatre.
Gwidon looked proudly at the king.
‘So now that the Prince is lost, will you allow me to be in charge of the army? There’s a war to wage!’
‘Sorry, my knight. I need you here! I believe we will need the protection of the kingdom. I have never trusted anyone more than you, Gwidon. You’re like my own son!’
Gwidon coughed. As if that was a compliment.
The king looked at Gwidon’s strong body, his blue eyes and long fair hair. The armor shined on him like moonlit waters, his horse proudly carried his body through every battle. Yes, he wished he had such a son.
‘You promised, my King.’
‘I know. But not now! I can promise you something else, I can promise you Karina! I can give you her hand!’
Gwidon looked at the king under his brows. The king was sure that Gwidon must have heard some rumors.
‘Think about it in this way, Gwidon. When I’m gone and you become her husband, you will inherit the whole kingdom. And be in charge of any army we will be in possession of.’
Princess Karina could be now a cow and still the offer would be tempting for Gwidon. He loved his knight’s life. He didn’t care much about women in general. But the king’s offer would take him further than his long-promised promotion.
A few days later, a number of dead bodies were found in the kingdom’s mines. One terrified, stuttering peasant boy was found barely alive and brought in front of the king.
‘What happened down there?’
‘K-k-k-illed. They were k-k-killed!’
‘By whom for the love of God?! By who?! The Turks?! Are they so close?! Did they send spies?!’
‘M-m-m-m...’
‘Tell it, boy! Tell me the truth!’
‘M-m-monsters! They were killed by monsters! There are thousands of them, hundreds of thousands! They are everywhere and they want to take over the kingdom!’
The king gasped and looked at the fortunetelling pile, which was still in the middle of his chamber.
If old Erwin had been right and his grandmother in her old bedtime stories had told him the truth, it was indeed hell that he was about to witness.
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