After the pair had departed into their homes, one of the men mounted a horse and with a fast gallop took off toward the north.
* * * *
Eason awoke slowly, stretching like a cat caught in a sunbeam. The time between closing his eyes the and the tangled ring of the wind up alarm came quickly, attesting to the depth of his slumber.
Yesterday’s respite from the mystery at hand was sorely needed: he spent much of that time sequestered in his room, his mind in a tumultuous cycle of thoughts, past and present. The serendipitous nature of their progress in this quest, Percilla’s admission of her mixed heritage and his own revelations of who he truly was and what he, at last, wanted in life.
In addition were a myriad of thoughts relating to the continent.
The great war, which consumed so many millions and the following influenza epidemic which, tragically, killed even more.
The postwar misery of Germany, hit hardest by the global depression and endured unbelievable inflation and political turmoil and the subsequent rise of Fascism and militarism.
The somewhat baffling postwar reaction of the French and their misguided, in his opinion, dependence on the defensive fortifications they called the Maginot line.
And in the east, the massacre of the Romanov family and collapse of the monarchy and the rise of communism, pogroms and purges.
But primarily in his mind was the muddled turmoil and the the rather mystical qualities of the recently unearthed document. This Order of the Dragon, restoring Elizabet’a Szilagy’s rightful place, the blood awakening , land beyond the forest - it was all so confusing, so delusive, so incredible.
However! This was another day, and since night’s slumber had cleared his mind and greatly enhanced his mood, he looked forward to a day that held promise of sunshine, warmth and adventure.
After a hearty breakfast he set out to gather his cousin for the trip to Percilla’s estate.
Though this was not to be, at least not as he had exactly envisioned, for on arriving the butler informed him that Thurgood had left the evening before last and had not returned until a few hours ago, with specific instructions not to be disturbed.
“No doubt doing his best to reduce the quantity of spirits in the county,” Eason thought dryly. But no matter. Keeping his promise, he would venture to Percilla’s alone.
He decided to take the trip on horseback rather than use the motorcar: the more leisurely pace would give him time to enjoy the ride, take in the the sights of the country and take in the fresh air.
And he mounted up and directed his steed toward her estate, one of the men on the rise who was on watch snapped open a spyglass. Confirming the description of the rider, he barked an order, to which another walked a few steps down the slope, away from the road and raising his hands, signaled to another on a distant hill.
* * * *
After a time Eason arrived at, then crossed, the newly repaired bridge which led to his destination. Meandering along the path which cut through the dense forest, his mind adrift, it was the horse that first spotted, then reacted with a sudden halt to a white haired man sitting in the middle of the lane.
“I say there,” Eason shouted. “Do you require assistance?”
The man looked at Eason with his dark eyes but remained silent.
Eason dismounted and approached. “May I assist you, sir?”
“Please,” the man said,in a remarkably strong voice, as he rose.
Then, with his voice lowered, he continued, “With a silent answer.”
The man’s stare took Eason aback. It seemed as if this elderly leather faced man was visioning straight into his soul.
“The Order of the Dragon,” he whispered with intent. “Elizabet'a Szilagy. The blood awakening.”
Eason froze.
It was as if this man had sudden command of his body, mind and soul. He could do nothing but stand at mute attention.
Finally, after a few seconds but what seemed like an eternity, the elderly man nodded slightly and turned away, breaking the spell.
Eason, with relief, took a deep breath.
“Tell me,” the man said, with a more pedestrian tone in his voice, “the one who revealed to you the coded words that enabled you to find the document. Is he alive?”
It took a moment to register. Percilla’s Uncle Edgar.
“Ah,” Eason replied with hesitance, “No. I am afraid he succumbed shortly after.”
It was the man’s turn to register relief. “As it is written,” he said, in a voice slightly higher than a whisper.
He then extracted something from his pocket and held it out to be received. Eason obliged, and the man dropped a coin in his open palm.
It was slightly larger than a half crown and tarnished with age.
It had MDXXXLXXXIII inscribed in raised letters which conformed to the curvature of the coin, and below, in smaller type, Devlesa araklam tume
Eason held it at arm’s length as if it were alive. The man reached out and turned the coin over to reveal a rather intricate etching of . . . a Dragon.
Exactly the same as the one on the box.
“Keep it with you always,” the man said. “It will confirm those you can trust.”
The man reached out and with a calloused hand closed Eason’s fingers around the coin.
“Go with her. Protect her. She needs you.”
And with that, the man strode quickly into the the forest.
Eason pocketed this strange coin and with mechanical motions and his mind whirling like a dervish, mounted his horse and galloped to his destination.
* * * *
The butler instructed that Percilla was in the waiting room. Eason entered and found her setting next to the fireplace, document in hand.
“Percilla!” he exclaimed as he approached her, “The strangest thing has just occurred.”
She looked up from the parchment.
“This man - well, it was so frightfully strange. I don’t know quite how to explain it to you - “
He thrust his hand in his coat pocket and produced the coin.. “He gave me this.”
“Yes,” she said softly, “I know.”
“You know?” But how?”
She looked at him in a way that he had hitherto never seen before. His mind, already grappling with the mornings events, screamed for a momentary respite.
“I need,” he stated with a tremble, “A sherry. A very large one I think.”
He went to the spirit carriage and filled a large bandy snifter to the brim. Downing more than half of it’s contents in a single gulp, he refilled the glass and cradled it in his hand.
Percilla went to his side. As he went to speak, she placed her forefinger against his lips, like a mother gently silencing a child.
“Perhaps,” she said, motioning him to the settee, “If I conveyed to you what happened earlier it would clarify things.”
With the feeling of her soft touch still lingering on his lips, Eason sat as instructed as Percilla began to relate this morning’s events.
She was in the midst of her morning stroll in the garden when she heard a haunting yet familiar melody emanating from behind the bushes.
The euphony struck a distant and pleasant chord within her memory, and as it increased in volume, far from frightening her, it served not only to both relax but fire her anticipation as to its origin.
Then an elderly lady appeared, hunched from age, humming the tune.
“Dear Child,” she addressed Percilla, “Do you recognize it?”
Why yes,” she answered calmly, “Yes I do. My Mother used to hum it to me when I was - a child.”
The Lady gave a soft smile, then looked deep into Percilla’s eyes. “and do you remember, my Dear, these words?
“The Order of the Dragon
Elizabet'a Szilagy
The blood awakening?”
“Why - yes, “Percilla said, suddenly mesmerized, “I - I do. I remember now. I heard them as a- a child. My Mother . . . And on this document - we discovered . . .”
“Then she gave me this.” Percilla said, and pushed back her sleeve.
She exposed a leather lace around her wrist, which was affixed with a small ring to a circular band of silver. The silver band held a coin.
An exact duplicate of the one Eason now possessed.
Percilla then continued. “She told me other things. Things I recall from long ago.”
She paused for a moment, deep in thought, then continued in a slow voice.
“When I was little, my Mother used to sit with me at night and tell me stories to put me to sleep. Fairy tales, King Arthur and the knights of the round table, and many more such wonderful works.
I used to dream that she would continue to talk to me long after I had fallen asleep. Different things, mysterious things, secret things that only we shared. And Eason,” Percilla effected another pause. “I now know that she in fact did.”
Eason sat in silence, not wanting to break the mood. For despite all than had transpired, his only thought at that particular moment was this new and unique aura about her. And with it, that she looked lovelier and more desirable than he had ever seen.
“Though I cannot,” she continued,”tell you exactly what she told me, nor can I at this time tell you why, I can say for certain my Mother knew this would happen.”
“She - did?” he managed to get out.
“Yes. These is - was this bond between us that I did not understand. Now, somehow, I do.”
She reached out and grasped Eason’s hand. “And I accept - and I am comfortable with - the fact that I have Romany blood within me.”
“In other words, Gypsy,” he stated.
“Yes,” she answered. “And you, Dear Eason. How do you feel about me being a Gypsy?”
“I does not matter,” he said clearing his throat, “what I, or anyone else thinks. But in truth, It matters to me not what is in your blood, but what is in your soul.”
She squeezed his hand and smiled in such a way that he had, like her aura, never seen before.
He stood up and went to the carriage for a refill.
”It matters to me not what is in your blood, but what is in your soul.”
As he filled his glass, he thought, “That is not how I speak. Those are not my words.”
And he reflected, with embarrassment, that her admittance of being half Gypsy would have indeed upset him, though not nearly as it would Thurgood.
Except for the additional inheritance that is. For money was, is, and will always be foremost in his cousin’s mind.
But it would have had an unsettling effect. Would have, in past terms, before that day - yes it was that day, that day at the Fayson’s bog, before he had conversed with that - that peat cutter?
Yes, that was it. But why? Why the change? Not that he regretted it, for he felt that in some unknown way it had opened a much sought after door to maturity and even - possibly - wisdom. But why? How?
A now too familiar confusion settled in. In an attempt to shake it off, he turned to Percilla and said,“So. What do we do next?”
She looked at him in that new way that he was rapidly becoming accustomed to. “There is a train leaving late afternoon. We can ticket a sleeper car and arrive in London by mid morning.”
“However, Dear Eason, I wish you to think about this. I do not want in any way to attempt to convince or cajole you into coming. It is up to you.”
“I made a commitment,” he said, verbalizing for the first time this decision, “that I would see this through. And I shall.”
“Are you sure,” she asked, “that you do not want to think about it?”
“I have,” he replied, “And at this time may I assure you that I am not in this for monetary gain. It is for many reasons. Personal reasons.”
I know,” she said, and gave a slight nod.
“Oh,” he had almost forgotten, “What about Thurgood? He is in on this.”
“I spoke to him,” she answered. “Yesterday.”
“Yesterday? But we were to have used that day apart to-”
“I know. He came over. I shall tell you later when we have more time.”
“Right,” he said, not quite knowing why. “We have things to do before the train departs.” He thought for a moment. “We should pack lightly. Only essentials.”
She nodded, then said, “And a sturdy pair of walking shoes should be included.” She came beside him, reached out and grasped his hand. “I know they told me you would,” she said, “But thank you, Eason. Thank you.”
Her hand lingered for a long moment on his. Then with a smile he bade her farewell. For now.
* * * *
Eason set the horse to a quick gallop as his mind inventoried what needed to be done: packing, instructions to the household help and a short, non revealing, note to his father
. Upon arriving he did the latter first, writing to his Father, who was in India, about him taking a spur of the moment vacation. Then after a few quick orders and advance wages to the servants, he went upstairs to pack.
This took longer that he had thought. So many things, so little room. He finally decided on somewhat drab yet utilitarian outdoor attire.
After finally fastening the bulging bag and securing money belts around his waist and ankle, he stepped back for a final check.
In pausing, the weight of the journey and all of its ramifications came to him.
He went to his dresser, opened the bottom drawer and extracted a revolver.
* * * *
He accelerated the motorcar, spraying gravel and dirt, onto the cobbled road.
Once he reached speed, the drone of the engine and the wind blowing through the open top brought him to a more relaxed state.
He tried not to think about was he had gotten himself into: all that had happened in a few short days, things he would never have imagined in his wildest dreams.
And though he resisted, his mind went to Percilla. How she had changed!
“I know they told me you would,”
“Yes,” she said softly, “I know.”
She knew? How? and They? THEY?
And what will happen after they reach London?
keep your wits about you boy, he said aloud.
In a few minutes he turned and drove the motorcar over the bridge toward the estate.
”It matters to me not what is in your blood, but what is in your soul.”
He reach the area where he saw the man sitting in the middle of the lane. Suddenly, on impulse, he stopped the vehicle.
Then he did something he had never done in his life.
He looked toward the sky and prayed.
Chunk two of three here. Should have chunk three in a few, then Old Sarge will take over to delight and amuse you.
Again,please feel free to add your prose to this story.
Woohoo - BTTT!!
And btw - I love your tagline!
Thanks for my bedtime story! *grin*