Chapter Twenty-Six

When they arrived at the meadow, the battle had already begun.

Charlotte gasped as she watched old men, teenage boys, and even women she knew from the village whose husbands had been falsely imprisoned, fighting hand to hand with the Duke’s men.

The Duke himself stayed off to the side, observing, saving his strength, it appeared, to see if the Prince would really show up.

The moment he saw Julien, his mouth fell open. At first he saw only the unscarred side of the Prince’s face and was shocked he could look so well after being left for dead in the river; an act Frederick had himself carried out.

It was only when Julien rode closer, prepared to look the man directly in the eye, that the fighting around them seemed to slow, everyone in shock over the fact they were seeing the heir to the throne alive in the flesh before them.

“Praise God,” someone whispered. “He lives.”

“The Prince lives!” another shouted, and the murmurs spread through the battlefield as the wounded lay dying, and the rest fell into a panic mode of attack and retreat. “The King must be avenged!”

The battle flared again as the released prisoners joined the fray, and Thomas and Etienne found themselves fighting off those who would try to approach the Prince; the men loyal to Frederick.

Fire filled Thomas’s eyes as he dispatched challenger after challenger with glancing blows meant only to deter, long enough for someone on the ground to take over. He kept continually looking back to Charlotte, who was doing her best to stay on the horse, wield the sword, and steady Julien all at the same time.

“STOP!” Julien shouted, in a tone of command Charlotte had never heard him use before. “Stop this senseless killing now: and kneel in memory of our departed King Tristan, my father.”

The battle continued unabated, and Duke Frederick laughed. “Yes, stop the slaughter of innocents, Your Highness, by letting me finish what I should have before.”

“By his own mouth!” Thomas shouted. “By his own word the Duke admits he is guilty of murder!” The crowd again grew confused, as some of the Duke’s men wondered if they were fighting on the side of right, after all. Chaos reigned as no one seemed quite sure what to do.

“Lay down your arms! I order you, as Heir to the Throne!” Julien shouted.

“You first,” Frederick spat. He took a swing with his sword toward Julien, and Charlotte managed to deflect it just enough to allow Julien to back the horse up out of reach once more.

“Bastard!” Julien cried. “I would kill you myself, if only I could!” Charlotte fought to hold him steady upon the horse.

“Pathetic! He is pathetic, look at him! He is not fit to rule!” Frederick crowed.

“Whom shall you believe, people of St. Fleur?” Etienne called. “The man born rightful heir to the throne, or the man who took it by violence and then turned upon all of YOU?”

“You imprisoned our husbands!” a woman shouted at the Duke, running toward him with an axe in hand.

“You took our homes and all we had!” another man wailed, and he too headed toward the Duke.

Sensing the tide had turned, Frederick lowered his sword to his side. “Your Highness… surely… a trial would be the…” he pled. Julien opened his mouth to speak; about to say he would grant the Duke a trial before execution if he wished, but as the angry mob began to rush toward Frederick, he locked eyes with the Prince, one last time. “Only… she dies first.”

He raised his sword toward Charlotte’s head.

“NO!” Thomas screamed, charging forward upon his horse. With one forceful blow he ran Frederick through; bringing the Duke’s tyranny to a just, permanent end.

The angry crowd rushed toward Frederick’s body as he fell from his horse and the horse galloped off into the forest.

In the meadow where Julien had been saved, the murderer of his father met his end; and both events by the hand of the same noble man.

Julien was restored, in an instant, to the role of future king in the eyes and hearts of his people.

Cheers went up all around as Thomas stayed still upon his horse, in shock over what had just occurred.

“It is finished,” Etienne shouted, to all who remained around them. “Justice has been served, by this man.” He indicated Thomas, who merely dismounted his horse, and looked away.

“Thomas, you’re hurt,” Charlotte cried, noticing the blood soaking his tunic.

“It is of no concern,” Thomas insisted. “Are you all right, Charlotte?”

Charlotte nodded, unable, now, to speak.

Julien turned to her, then to Etienne. “Please, help me down from this animal.”

Etienne and Charlotte obliged, and they steadied Julien as he beckoned Thomas near.

“Kneel,” Julien commanded, and without hesitation, Thomas knelt.

“For acts of bravery and valor—including, but not limited to, saving not only my life, but the life of the woman I love—I proclaim from this moment on that Thomas Vallery be known as a knight of the realm, in my service. We are in your debt.”

Julien held out his hand and Etienne leant him his sword. Gently, he touched each of Thomas’s shoulders in turn. “Arise, Sir Thomas of St. Fleur. With the thanks of a grateful kingdom, and its future king.”

“Sir Thomas!” the crowd chanted, as Thomas slowly rose to his feet. He appeared unsteady now, and Charlotte left Julien in Etienne’s charge as she rushed to Thomas to assess his wounds.

“You require treatment, Thomas. Please, help me!” she cried. The Friar came forward and steadied Thomas, helping him back on his horse. Charlotte rode behind him, and spurred the animal quickly in the direction of help: the direction of home.