Uprising In Gonjolard (Part 10) | A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words

Part 9

Sweat poured down King Hartfelt's temple as his inflamed stomach twisted in knots. He shuffled his feet, waiting for his son's arrival. Darting back and forth, he paused to admire his ancestors' majestic works, vowing to preserve at all costs their kingdom.

But the Crown was under attack. A pounding headache and inflamed stomach overshadowed his analysis of the perceived enemies of he Crown.

A weak army, ill-equipped to handle the growing rebellion in the kingdom, weighed heavily on his health.

He held no confidence in his son's ability to quiet the retaliation from the Bodars and peasants. Credit from foreign allies dwindled as his coffers were depleted. Crown was in disarray.

And, the annual Gonjolard Festival was upon them in several hours.

But first, the important task of sentencing the Sons of Bodar rebels and making an example of its presumed leader, Alphonse. With the initial group of prisoners sentenced to the gallows at sunrise, all that was left consisted of holding the SOB accountable for its planned uprising.

All at court held a collective breath waiting for the SOB's elusive leader's entrance.

Now, Part 10

It was late in the evening, but still the night before Frejya's day. Seated next to his father, King Hartfelt of House Tallonz, in the Grand Hall, Prince Gawdawfel, heir to the Kingdom of Gonjolard, handed down his judgments quickly and sentenced the first group of prisoners to the gallows at sunrise.

"They hang at first light on the morrow, the glorious day of our beloved Gonjolard Festival," Prince Gawdawfel stated in a superior voice meant to frighten those in attendance the Grand Hall.

Gawdawfel turned to his father for approval, venom in his eyes. He frowned, noticing his father continued to hold his midsection. What the prince didn't realize was that his father's stomach was inflamed, churning fiercely as pain shot up his side and back, until a rush of vomit threatened to gush forward.

King Hartfelt didn't immediately respond. His head ached as the jesters whispered in his ear and pointed to the top of his throne adorned on each side with the skulls of enemies to the Crown.

Holding the bile, the King silently cursed is his master of medicine for not alleviating his ailment. After several long seconds, with his eyes closed, he nodded regretfully in agreement. He need not witness the pained expressions of innocent men and women.

Prince Gawdawfel, occupied with his father and the wickedness of this punishments, failed to notice the two lords hiding in the shadows of the ornate pillars, their nostrils flaring.

Gawdawfel's cruelty wasn't lost on them.

The taller gentleman, Lord Foucant of the Eastern Rune Village, stepped farther into the dark and leaned against the palace wall. He owned a sizeable manor of more than fifty acres. His lands, crops, and serfs were sizeable. He believed in the feudal system, but was in the minority when it came to cruelty in any manner. He grimaced before removing a crest from his pocket.

Lord Toleranz, his homeland in the Southeastern Squire Village, crossed his arms, deep in discussion with his wife's brother. Each nodded occasionally, then glanced at the prince as though an agreement flowed between them. He too abhorred cruelty as unnecessary. Of the two, he hated the unfair tax burden heaped upon the already poorest of the subjects in the Kingdom. He too removed a crest from his cloak.

Their grievances were justified; more so than the peasants. They received nothing in return for upholding the Crown's work. Balancing the needs of the Crown and that of his serfs placed them in harm's way of mercenaries and rebellious villagers.

It was only a matter of time before their united mission aligned with the SOB's objectives. Echoing the group's call for justice, unseating the King and barbaric Prince should have been the desire of all lords in the interest of salvaging the Kingdom.

While Lord Toleranz kept a lookout, Lord Foucant motioned to his personal guard. He joined them and peered through the opening in his armor, his hand extended to accepted the crests of both houses.

He understood the task at hand. Bowing, he turned and left the Grand Hall as quietly as he'd entered.

The lords focused on Prince Gawdawfel's words, anxious to learn the identity of the presumed leader of the rebellion.

King Hartfelt Tallonz continued to grip the arms of the throne, his face contorted in the midst of the jesters' laughter and antics. He struggled to follow the proceedings, but could stand no more. He watched in agony as Prince Gawdawfel rose from his seat to confront the leader of the SOB.

The most important occasion in the Crown's history was about to commence; that of delivering justice to Alphonse and thus furthering his plans to succeed as King of Gonjolard.

Arnaldo announced the presence of the prison guard, Simon. Lauryn's brother and member of the SOB, he was trusted to keep Alphonse safe. Holding him back, they both entered the Grand Hall.

The palace crowd again erupted in cheers.

Lords Foucant and Toleranz stepped from behind the pillars into the crowd and made their way toward Alphonse. Simon caught sight of them as they both nodded in his direction.

The jesters hurriedly moved into position to celebrate the Crown's show of power. Prince Gawdawfel waived them off. With haste, they retreated to the back of the palace.

"Let's not keep the court waiting. All, I present our most distinguished guest, the leader of the rebellious group, the SOB."

Simon ushered Alphonse in front of him. Both men advanced toward the front with Simon holding his arm in a tight grip.

All Alphonse could dwell on was Lauryn's encouragement. "It's imperative you are believable as leader of the SOB and the false plans you bring are accepted."

If victory was to be won, how convincing a story he could weave was crucial. In order to maintain a show of dignity, he must first face them in an honorable manner. They'd expect no less from the leader of the rebellion.

For his parents' death and others, Alphonse squared his shoulders and heaved heavily as he stood in front of the representatives of the Crown.

The candelabras flickered and swayed until they cast a glow on Alphonse's face.

Prince Gawdawfel rose sharply as if stunned by the sight before him. A spasm of fear crossed his face and drained color from it. He recovered as quickly as he could.

A hushed silence fell over the crowd.

Simon spoke first as he held up Alphonse's handcuffed hand. "I present before you, my King and Prince, the traitor I captured known as Alphonse, the leader of the SOB's. Our spies are worth their weight in gold as I also present the rebellious plan against the Crown."

The crowd cheered and clapped loudly as Prince Gawdawfel strolled down the aisle and paused in front of Simon, avoiding Alphonse's eyes.

Simon handed Gawdawfel the plans for rebellion. He studied them, frowning while reading. Suddenly, he glanced at Alphonse, his nostrils flaring.

"So the SOB is using the Festival of Gonjoloard to betray the Crown. They're attacking from the Southern region while our army is deployed to the north and east defending the coast. A good plan were it not for our spies. Good work, Simon. You will be rewarded."

"You have two weaknesses; one of which is battle strategy," Alphonse spat out.

Without warning, Gawdawfel slapped Alphonse hard several times in succession across the face. His wicked laugh resounded in the Great Hall as a spot of blood escaped Alphonse's lips. His chiseled muscles flinched, but he remained silent.

Arnaldo rushed to the the Prince's side and whispered into his ear.

Prince Gawdawfel stepped back a few paces and placed his hand on his side as if to draw his blade. His eyes widened in horror as the image of his weapon lay on his bed. Immediately, his gaze turned to the disturbance at end of the hall.

Lords Foucant and Toleranz weren't the only ones hiding behind the giant gray pillars.

Lauryn had been standing behind another pillar farthest to the hall entrance scouring all that was happening within. Every secret room and hallway in the castle came flooding back.

Arnaldo recognized Lauryn and beckoned to one of the palace guards. Immediately, the guard grabbed and flung her around, then dragged her to the front, stopping next to Alphonse. She avoided looking directly into Prince Gawdawfel's eyes. Alphonse shot a quick look at Lauryn, then away swiftly to avoid implicating her.

The exchange wasn't lost on Gawdawfel. Instantly, he forgot about the rebellion plans.

"I'll deal with you later, traitor. First, I have some unfinished business with this wench." Gawdawfel sneered as his eyes devoured Lauryn.

Her shoulders stiffened as she tossed her hair to the side in defiance. Her return stare indicated she didn't return the affection. Neither the Grand Hall nor his overbearing statue impressed her. The evil that pervaded those halls was still alive and well. It hunched above waiting to attack the unsuspecting and the innocent. However, she didn't realize at the time that her explorations would work in the SOB's favor and help bring the rebellion to fruition.

An aching memory. Running down the dark palace hallways away from her pursuer would remain in her thoughts forever. Her father sentenced to debtor's prison where he died for his refusal to release her to the Crown. For those, she had a date with the Prince.

Gawdawfel's wicked smile slashed every inch of her body and laid it bare as he licked his lips.

Lauryn clutched her long sword. Patience, she reminded herself. She closed her eyes, then rolled her neck deep from one side to the other, shaking off ominous thoughts that squirmed at the back of her mind. Gawdawfel's breath on her hair. His dirty, probing hands caressing her backside.

He interrupted her unpleasant thoughts. "I see you're all grown up, wench. The years blessed you well."

Lauryn desperately wanted to spit in his face, anywhere on his body, or at his feet, but years of training from her brothers yielded the restraint she now possessed. Instead, she held back angry tears and directed her hatred where it hurt.

Seething words meant to provoke Gawdawfel's vanity escaped. "I struggle to this day to remember any moment spent in your presence."

Simon held back Alphonse as Gawdawfel's slap nearly buckled her knees. He continued, "instead of honoring the Crown, you could find nothing better to occupy your time than align yourself with this imposter; this traitor to your King standing in front of you?"

Lauryn shot back quickly. "I wasn't aware that your father was dead, no matter how desperately you wish it so. He sits the Kingdom's throne behind you!" she hissed.

"Why, you insolent whore!"

Seeing Gawdawfel's hand fly upward to deliver another blow, Alphonse broke free from Simon and pushed Lauryn behind him. He stared with venom in his eyes at Gawdawfel. For the first time, Gawdawfel stared back with a horrified knowing look was a chilling sight that left both men numb.

Gawdawfel gasped as his hands flew to cover his face. It was as if he were looking at a younger version of himself; one less ruthless and intimidating. A time before he destroyed his mother's heritage and took on his father's. Before his rise to power.

"Who be your kin, filthy peasant?" Gawdawful hissed, still covering his face.

"No one you would care to know or permit in your presence," Alphonse retorted, keeping his calm.

Observing the events with interest now, King Hartfelt remembered his beloved wife's warnings and shouted, "all in this hall move yourselves back immediately. We've business to discuss."

Lauryn grabbed Alphonse's hand. At that moment, she feared for his life more than at any time she'd known him as she stared at Gawdawfel's manservant. A pained expression flooded her face, but she kept silent.

She recognized the similarities in Alphonse and Gawdawdel the first time she met Alphonse. To keep Alphonse safe, she said nothing. A bastard of the Crown held no special privilege than the lowest peasant in the kingdom.

The truth dagger that stabs you, then twists into your gut as if carving out the details, tells no lies.

It hit him the moment he raised his eyes to Alphonse. Anger, power, revenge, loathing. The only thing missing from Alphonse was fear. Sensing danger to himself, Gawdawfel's eyes widened as his own fear replaced the confidence.

“You rebellious heathen!” Gawdawfel could think of nothing else to say.

Alphonse's countenance, his sense of entitlement in his own right as a man, although low born, was encompassed in his return glare.

Glancing from Lauryn, to his master, to Alphonse, then furtively toward the palace door, Arnaldo knew whose defense he must now posture. He didn't answer immediately as a spasm of worry crossed his face. He wasn't certain how effective his move would be in protecting himself from his master's wrath.

Once he decided, he crossed his arms, forming a barrier between him and Gawdawfel.

A faithful manservant, Arnaldo was decent and trustworthy, remembering his late Queen grew fond of him. He served her well as confidant. Indeed, a trusted servant who proved worthy to entrust the family's most private matters.

In that moment, though, Arnaldo willed his trembling legs to run. But his deceased Queen's face flashed before his eyes as she commanded him to stand and confront the truth. All will be will, and you'll be rewarded in due time, she instilled in him.

Arnaldo turned sharply toward Alphonse, ignoring Gawdawfal.

The only attendant who truly knew the mind and heart of his master, Arnaldo's heart ached as his thoughts turned to the Mirror of Secrets. The secrets Arnaldo held close had long been silenced. In the many years during his service to first the Queen, he hoped her son's path of vengeance would not return to him tenfold.

Gawdawfel froze. He watched and listened in numbed horror the story Arnaldo unfolded for all the court to hear.

Now was the time. Arnaldo shouted,

"The Mirror of Secrets do not lie. It was foretold. Izorah's warning was clear. I heard her spoken words with the help of your late Queen. Beware Prince. You have sowed your seed wide. The Queen knew the sprout had taken root, but not in your own likeness. Where you are weak, it will be mighty. Where you are vain, it will crush your arrogance. Izorah warned you these many years. But your refusal to change and your recklessness you will face soon, for beyond these walls, your power will come to an end."

Arnaldo pointed directly at Alphonse. In a shaky voice, he declared,

"It has been rumored these twenty years that the Prince has many bastards; one in every village in the kingdom. Believe what you must, but I know ,and your late Queen knew and confirmed to me that Alphonse is the son of Prince Gawdawfel."

"I was there. The young maidens he demanded be sent to the castle from the villages he gave to his guards, save one he kept for himself near his quarters under guard. No one was allowed access to her. When she was heavy with child, the late Queen ordered me to return her to a Bodar family away from her own. Vicar Tibost recommended a decent family. They were awarded twenty acres of land to keep the boy's parentage hidden. The family lived up to their bargain, but later was given to one of his lords."

All at court gasped loudly, then reduced their conversation to whispers.

The prince rolled his shoulders as if annoyed, then let out a hearty laugh. "Preposterous, this tale you weave of my mother's revenge. Lies, all lies. Now let's get back to the business of this traitor's rebellion to the Crown."

"It's true, my Prince, every word. You know it to be so. The girl's name was Evangelina."

"I was told an unknown sickness befell her, so kept my distance. I'll hear no more of this nonsense." Visibly shaking with blood pounding in his ears, Gawdawfel turned to King Hartfelt who merely stared at him.

Astonished and confused, Alphonse vacillated between Arnaldo's plausible explanation of the events surrounding his birth and Gawdawfel's denial. He could only look at Lauryn, who said nothing, her silence speaking instead. She squeezed his hand tightly.

"If it is true, how dare he rise up against me. I am his..." Sweat began to form on Gawdawfel's temples.

Arnaldo finished his sentence. "His enemy. Nothing more. He grieves the father and mother who raised him and whom you had killed."

"Ungrateful bastard is what he is as is you, Arnaldo. Are you mad? How dare you imply that I would sire this monstrosity. Someone who would bring down the House of Tallonz! Are you insane? Remove this traitor also from my sight."

Gawdawfel hesitated, holding up his hand. "No wait. I am the only person who can rid these lies once and for all."

He reached over and grabbed one of his guard's swords. With one fell swoop, Arnaldo's head rolled half way down the carpet, spilling his blood as his face came to rest at the feet of Alphonse.

He returned the soldier's sword, then declared, "I can destroy you all with a word."

Alphonse retorted, "You can try, but thousands more will rise up until you no longer breath Gonjolardan air.

King Hartfelt could take no more. He rose gingerly from his throne with the help of his servant and left the Great Hall.

"Josiah, take this imposter away to be executed in the morning along with his rebel friends."

Simon released Alphonse to Josiah, a member of the guard.

Prince Gawdawfel scoured the crowd in the Great Hall. "What are you staring at, the lot of you" Leave now, and never speak again of these filthy lies brought to you this night else you'll suffer my full vengeance."

Lords Foucant and Toleranz nodded at each other, smiled at the turn of events, then made their way to the back of the hall to await Josiah escorting Alphonse back to prison.

Gawdawfel secured the battle plans, turned, and marched out the Great Hall.

I must consult with my father immediately, his panicked thoughts finally reasoned.

[to be continued...]

Welcome back to my freewrite prompt story for this week. The photo that is the subject of the story spoke to me about a king.

Describe what you see.
An elderly king dressed elegantly in a crimson gown sits on his thrown. His eyes are closed. Jesters surround the throne to entertain him. Two skill heads sit atop the throne head.

Describe what you feel.
The king is either asleep or ill. He looks frail, but must attend to business before him.

Write a story or poem about what you think is going on. I leave with you my story for:

Original PIC1000 Challenge
A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words - 3/22/24

and

PIC1000 Challenge for thumbnail image
A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words - 4/5/24

^{Image used with permission of contest owner}