Chapter VII - In which I visit a town

As I said before, a forest solely cannot be considered a wooded area. The moors, the heaths, the marshes, they were all a part of the forest. Keeping this into consideration, the town of Livington could be said to be inside Gwynheid itself.

The reason lies in it's the forest odd history. Gwynheid now is actually much larger than what it used to be, courtesy of William I, the Conqueror, an avid lover of the hunt, who ordered its reforestation. Several villages and towns were abandoned for the purpose, and their ruins still exist today. Many others were spared. Gywnheid now was essentially a giant patchwork of ancient groves, old trees, slightly old trees, new trees, odd looking dells, strange heaths, river marshes and towns spread out all over. Ultimately, it was all covered under the single forest.

The beginning of the journey from home consisted of making our way through the forest, guided by the position of the trees, until we reached a big enough trail. From there onwards we followed the path. Gradually, the forest would start to thin, and we would start to see a few cottages along the road. Then suddenly the trees would end, and we would be out upon the open country, amidst picturesque houses under the shade of a beech or yew, with great rolling meadows spread out between them.

Slowly though, the houses would grow closer together, the road would be bigger and better, and one would see people going on about their day. Then we'd crest a few hills, and the town would come into view with all its glory - the lazy river at the side, the haphazard buildings ahead, and the tall temple spire. Ride down the hill, cross the bridge, greet the guards - and we'd finally have arrived.

Livington.

***

My first visit was to the graveyard, alone. There, I discovered a separate gravestone for those who died in the fire - the bodies were so unrecognizable that they were all buried together. Twelve names upon a cold, light slab. I had to come to see my Aunt, yet the very first name gave me pause.

Edward Deiramund (1637 - 1652)

He kept the faith

I knew everyone thought I died, but only after seeing myself did I know the fact. It was as if a vague illustration had suddenly became a distinct painting; Edward Deiramund, the noble, was dead, and I was now Robin Armitage, the forester, and that was the way it would remain that way forever.

Before I could fully grasp that thought, the priest, in his golden white robes walked up to me. “That was a terrible, senseless, tragedy.” He said to me. Caught off guard, I didn't know how to respond, so I kept my mouth shut. Then the man spoke again.

“Forgive me for asking, but may I know your name?” He shrugged apologetically. “I never quite forget a face, and yours is unfamiliar. Are you new here?”

“I am Robin Armitage, grandson of Jacob Armitage.” I explained.

“Ah. Yes, Armitage, I remember.” He nodded understandingly. “Didn't know about you though.” He clapped me once on the shoulders. “Don't think it's your fault. There was nothing you could have done.”

I was surprised at the remark, and he saw it. “Your grandfather was troubled too, you know. He's a loyal man, and I could see he blamed itself. And when I saw you, I thought you might believe similarly. I was right, wasn't I?” He smiled lightly.

“You were right.” I acknowledged. A second later, I spoke up. “If you don't mind - I do have a question. What does that epitaph mean?”

“Oh? The epitaph?” He looked over to it, and then back at me. “Well, it's a bit of long story - but basically, it goes like this:

There once lived a good man, who followed all the precepts; he was devout, charitable, fair, honest, possessed all the virtues. Yet his life was miserable; he was constantly cheated, lied and taken for granted. The goodness he did was only met with abuse; yet he did not change.

So one day, his friend questioned him: Brother, are you not sick of being treated like this? Why do you continue showing on kindness to those who do not understand it? How do you persist in your efforts, even though it is never reciprocated?

Then, the man replied: Friend, I am a good man, and the pain of losing that is far greater than anything I could ever suffer. The eternal Book shows us the path to life, and that is the way I intend to live. Knowing that my actions are right and just, that my nature is pure and virtuous, that my life is meaningful and useful, gives me unimaginable peace and strength.

For I know that I when my time comes, and I stand before the gates of Heaven, I can proudly and loudly say - I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, and I have kept the faith.”

He finished the parable, and drank a glass of water (we had moved in the middle of it). “Do you understand now? He said.

“I think I do. You were very eloquent.” I honestly replied, and he laughed. “But why did you use this particular saying?”

“Do you know the motto of the Deiramund house?”

Semper Fidelis.

“Ah. I understand.” I said. And I did. “Thank you, Reverend…”

“Colridge.”

“Thank you, Reverend Colridge. You were quite helpful to me as well.” I said.

I had come to the graveyard to pay respects to my Aunt, and yet found affirmation from a source I hadn't expected. The Sign couldn't possibly have been clearer than this. Keep the faith. I would get my chance, I would have justice, and I would live a noble life. All I had to do was believe, and bide my time.

***

The other event of import (other than buying of necessities and exploring the town) was my meeting with Oswald James, local tradesman, retired ‘adventurer’, owner of a lodge; a man with a jolly smile and a stout heart. Obviously, the impressions of him formed after many meetings; my initial thought was - why was his head shaped like an egg?

“Jacob! So good to see you!” The two of them shook hands, and then he turned to me. “And who's this?”

“That's my grandson, Robin. Robin, this is a dear friend of mine - Oswald James.”

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“Grandson!” Oswald spluttered. “Eight years have I known you, and you never mentioned a child, let alone a grandchild! How many secrets are you keeping from me, Jacob? And why?!” He broke off, aggrieved.

“Let's go inside and talk, shall we?” Jacob offered. “I promise I have an explanation, but I need a drink before I do so.”

And so we went inside and sat around the table and drank the beers. It was rougher than what I used to, but soon I found myself enjoying it. Jacob looked at me as he was about to speak - a final sign of confirmation. I nodded back.

We had already agreed that there needed to be another person who knew about the secret - someone with more worldly knowledge, who could guide me in the urbane society, who I could ask for help in case of a crisis. Oswald was Jacob's choice - and I had agreed.

With my acknowledgment, Jacob launched into the story, and I watched Oswald’s eyes grew larger every second, until I was sure they were burst open.

“By the Gods!” He exclaimed when the narration was finished. “What Providence! If there ever was -” Unable to continue due to excitement, he instead turned to his beer and gulped it down.

“Steady, Oswald.” Jacob said. “You need to keep the secret; not a word of it anyone else.”

“You don't have to tell me, Jacob!” He thumped the tankard on the table. “They can dismember me limb to limb, but I'll never speak! For I am still a King’s man, and I'll be one till the grave.” He solemnly finished.

“No. If the situation is too dire, don't hold back. It is not worth that anyone else should lose their life over this matter.” I firmly said.

“What? No! Milord -”

“It's Robin.” “Call me Robin.” Jacob and I both interjected.

“Master Robin -”

“Just Robin is fine.” I said.

“Robin.” He said, extremely reluctantly, after taking another swig of his beer. “I sat during the trial of those malfeasants, watched them hang as well… and all I felt was bitter regret at my helplessness. I swore that I wasn't going to let it happen again - hollow words, I know, for how would I get a chance? But then you arrived in front of me, returned to life, milord, and… I swear I'll give my life to keep it that way.” He paused. “Even if you say no.”

“You said milord again.” Jacob reminded gently. My mind was somewhere else. “Wait - the criminals were hanged?” I asked. “When did that happen?”

“Within two months, mi-obin, when the crime was revealed to all, they were brought before the arch-judges at Caemlyn, and found guilty. The entirety of Albion condemned them; and even the Parliamentarians have distanced themselves from these fanatics. Were you not aware of the fact?”

“No, I was not.” I looked towards Jacob, who had chosen the same moment to turn away and drink. The wave of disappointment within me was quickly quashed though - they were only a small regiment of a larger army. “The Parliamentarians? Are they the Equalists? No, wait - it's better if you tell me all you know about the war, Ser Oswald. I am woefully ignorant about it all.”

“Well, first of all, if I have to call you Robin, you have to call me Oswald.” He shook his finger before I could protest. “I'll not have you call me Ser while I address you by name. Pretend that I'm a familiar uncle, if nothing else.” I nodded my assent, and then he continued.

“And about the war… well, what can I say? It has been a great and terrible thing. Albion itself has been divided. Neighbors have turned against one another; there have been skirmishes everywhere. No place is truly safe, and even here, in Livington, I fear there are those who consider us their enemies.” He finished mournfully, and drank another cup.

“How did this come to be?” I asked. “How can men turn against their own King? How can people ally with those who burn down innocents and still consider them righteous?”

“That's why these are dark times, mas-Robin.” He corrected himself again. “I'm glad you live in the forest, for that is the safest place you can stay at the moment.”

“Tell me how it began.” I said, and then realized how arrogant I sounded. “Please?”

“Of course. Although, I must warn you - I too, have a general idea of what transpired - hearsay and all that. And I doubt if truly knows about it all - that is the nature of the present times. But let's see, the entire thing is said to have began when the King summoned the Parliament - wait; the Parliament is, how should I say…”

“The House of the Blessed, which represents the will of the blessed, and The House of Commons, which represent the will of the commons, who come together to form the Parliament, in order to pass declarations and advise the King.” I said, repeating it word for word from what I had read.

Oswald blinked, and nodded his head. “That’s correct. Well, the King summoned the Parliament in order to pass a new Bill for Taxation, for the treasury needed the money.

Not only did the Parliament fail to pass a consensus, they also accused the King of misrule and tried to impeach the Duke of Buckingham for counts of bribery and corruption. There were other grievances as well, including flagrant taxation of the last few years, the military spending of all failed expeditions - basically, it came to a point that neither party was willing to concede on any matter whatsoever.

The King didn't stand for this flagrant display of power, and dissolved the Parliament. However, they disagreed, and then alleged that it was the King who needed to step down.”

“What?” At this point, even I couldn't control my indignation. “They went that far?”

“They did, I'm afraid. The King then ordered the arrest of five MPs who he thought was behind it all, but they had already fled. Then he violated protocol and stepped into the Parliament; and after delivering an ultimatum to submit, left the Hall. The Parliamentarians, too had enough, and decided to gather the army.

And that's how the war started. Now everybody thought it would be a short one at first, that one side would relent sooner or later. However, the war didn't end, and soon every part of Albion was drawn into the conflict. No one is sure of what right or wrong is - but they all have picked a side and are willing to kill each other for it.” He shook his head. “I'm afraid of what's going to happen next.”

I drank a little, and thought to myself about it all. “Any side which has innocent burning killers are the wrong side, Oswald. I don't need to think too hard about that.”

“I am not defending the Parliamentarians, but they're not the same as the Equalists. No, they're a new, fanatical group - they think that the King is a criminal, and should be tried and punished as such.”

“Preposterous! By the law a man should be tried by his peers, and who's equal to the King?”

“Oh, that brings up their other point: they think that all people are created equal, and should therefore possess the same rights as well. Majesty becomes naught, and can be treated as a commoner.”

I was so angry that I couldn't speak for a few seconds. “I see why they're called fanatics now. Only a insane mind could think of such ideas.” I said. We passed a few more minutes in contemplation and drinking, until I decided to speak again.

“Anyway, I would also like to ask you for advice. Jacob thinks that I should wait for the King to call for a Army before leaving the forest. I was hoping to stay here for a while and then go join my Father. What do you think?”

Oswald nodded and then spoke with thinking. “By no means, Robin, should you leave now. I do not where your Father is now, but he is a capable general, and well versed in the Art of War. Forgive me for saying this, but there's no help you can provide him now. Rather, I'll think that we should try to let him know you're safe - he might be distracted if he thinks you're dead.”

“Yes, I had forgotten about that.” I said. The dejection must have been clear in my face, cause Oswald then clapped my shoulders.

“That doesn't mean that you can't train for it! Listen - what do you think about being a Adventurer? You get to learn, you get to earn, and you'll be doing a lot of good. What do you think?”

Jacob and I both look at each other, startled by the idea that we (or at least I) had never considered. “It might be helpful.” He said. “But he still needs to learn the basics first.”

“Jacob, I know enough!”

“No.” He shook his head. “Maybe after winter, but certainly not now.”

We glared at each other (I glared, he was stone faced), when Oswald broke it up. “Well, of course, it's going to take some time; you can't simply walk in, say your name and start adventuring, you know?” He laughed, and it eased the tension. “There's nothing to do in winter in anyway - so even I'd say that you should learn from Jacob till then.”

“Fine. After winter it is.” I relented, and the harmonious atmosphere returned. We ate, drank, talked about adventurers and explorers (Oswald talked, we listened). It wasn't until late evening that we were done, and then we began again once Jacob agreed it was better to stay the night here.

So, I slept at Oswald’s house at night - a warm, comfortable bed, bigger than what I had been accustomed to. In the morning, I woke up at the crack of dawn, and a wondrous sight awaited me - a thin layer of snow that blanketed everything in dazzling white.

Winter had arrived at last.

***