Chapter Nine

"He's at Melrose Abbey on the Tweed," said Richard. His announcement was met with silence from Orrin's close advisors. "Mordant's forces are pillaging further to the south, laying waste to hundreds of acres of farmland, and committing wholesale slaughter of its living inhabitants. They're following the Southern Upland Way that lies between the Rivers Tweed and Teviot. At this rate, Mordant's forces will have a firm foothold in Dumfrieshire. However, these are little more than diversionary tactics, Your Majesty. He commits these atrocities to spite us. To goad us into attacking in a fit of frenzied anger, rather than coldly and calculatingly."

He told King Orrin about his nocturnal Emerald Eye induced visions.

"We must contain him *here*, Your Majesty." Using his pointer, Richard followed an imaginary east-west line on the wall-sized campaign map from Moffat to the Cheviot Hills. "Once he crosses from the Caledonian Lowlands into Avalon's North Country, we have little chance of halting his advance. However, if we fight a holding action here, along the Cheviot Hills, we should draw his forces away from their current relentless southern advance."

He paused to ensure the others were following his line of reasoning.

"Thus, we can make use of the Cheviot's rugged terrain to mask our movements and slow his; this way we stand a chance of containing him long enough for Sir Clark's reinforcements to reach us." Looking over at Prince Garth, he added for his cousin's benefit, "As well as the timely arrival of the Prince of Wales' own crack archers and fusiliers. I understand that at the last tourney the infamous Welch archers actually hit the targets that were placed before them."

"Aye, Sir Richard, 'twas a wonder to behold," said Sir Oliver. "They actually aimed their arrows in the direction of the targets this year, rather than at the audience. 'Tis nothing more dangerous on this God's green earth than to be standing behind a Welshman with a crossbow!"

The others in the room laughed, grateful for the short respite of levity. Prince Garth smiled easily. His personal Welch archers and fusiliers both had fearsome fighting records and shared a friendly rivalry with their sister units garrisoned in the Capital City.

"But worry not, Your Highness," reassured Sir Oliver. "Once Sir Roy arrives, there will be no need for any more archers. Between my young protege and I, we can fire off more arrows more accurately than an entire battalion of archers! And still have time to come home to a good supper put out by the army's finest mess sergeants!"

"Let us just hope that Mordant's minions didn't hear of Lord Wayne's catching Sir Roy's arrows," Garth retorted good-naturedly. "I'd hate to see all of our bolts falling into the enemies' *hands* and being thrown back at us!" Oliver turned beet-red at this reminder, but laughed in spite of himself at the prince's pun.

As Richard briefed the assembled commanding officers and staff, Princess Donna worried about her cousin. He was acting like a man possessed. He'd been up since before dawn, awaking his officers and men for predawn drills. She'd observed him throughout the course of the day. There was only one word to describe Richard when he became like this: Driven. He was pushing his men to the point of exhaustion, but there was no one whom he pushed harder than he did himself.

Donna knew the cost to him of knowing where Barbara was being held while being unable to do anything about it. She knew that his first instincts had been to saddle Nightwing and abandon the main body to go in search of her. Certainly no one would have blamed him. But he hadn't gone; instead he'd begun his relentless pursuit of perfection from his troops, for he had a God-given duty to defend and fight for his king and his people.

After all, he was the hereditary Chieftain of Clan Grayson, a very old, very proud family with direct ties to the royal line for several generations. During their current bloody campaign of terror, Mordant's forces had already ruthlessly murdered countless members of his Clan. For a Grayson duty to his God, his country, his king, and his clan had to come before himself.

So Richard drilled, and he planned, and . . . Donna knew . . . he died a little each day.

The sounds of trumpets and cheers outside stopped any further attempt at a military briefing. Someone was coming! Then they heard the shouts: "Three cheers for Lord Wayne! Hip-hip . . . Hooray!"

"Bruce!" Richard's eyes lit in genuine pleasure. Suddenly, he was no longer the serious Captain of the Honor Guard, but rather an eighteen year old boy about to be reunited with the man he thought of as his father. Forgetting royal protocol, he tossed his pointer at Prince Garth, who instinctively caught it, and ran out of the Royal briefing tent. Their Majesties exchanged indulgent smiles over their impetuous nephew.

"Bruce . . ! Bruce . . !" Richard waved excitedly. Lord Wayne immediately spotted his adopted son and dismounted instantly, handing his reins to a nearby retainer.

"Richard, lad! 'Tis good to see you again," the two men clasped arms in a show of genuine affection. "You're looking a mite fatigued, lad. Aren't you getting enough sleep?" Richard shook his head, chagrinned.

"If not Alfred, then you . . . yes? Aye, I am a bit fatigued from lack of sleep and long hours. But, we're at war and there is no helping it. I'll catch up on my sleep once Mordant surrenders unconditionally to King Orrin!" He added this last with a sardonic smile. Wayne's mouth quirked in a half-smile.

"Fair enough. But I'll hold you to it, and that's a promise!" he replied in mock threat.

The two looked up to see their Majesties waiting patiently by the tent flaps. Embarrassed by their public show of affection, Richard and Wayne both dropped their arms instantly, and as one assumed what Donna thought of as the "Mask." This was their public persona, not quite haughty, not quite superior, but not particularly friendly. Therefore, their brief moment of undisguised openness with each other was a rare instant indeed, something not normally witnessed by others.

They walked to their sovereigns and Wayne immediately kneeled before them.

"Majesties, I bring the advance party of Castle Wayne's garrison. The main body will meet us two days out. I hereby commend sovereignty of my men and materiel into your Royal hands."

"Thank you, Lord Wayne," King Orrin replied. "We are pleased that you have joined us today, as is a very dear and important member of our family and your household. Rise, Lord Wayne, and after you have settled in and refreshed yourself after your long march, we would be honored by your presence at our dinner table." 

"Thank you, Majesty, but the honor is mine." The Royal Family turned as one to return to their quarters. Wayne and Richard waited respectfully until they'd turned the corner of the briefing tent. "Come, Richard, show me where I can take off these two-days worth of dusty clothes!"

"My tent's this way, Bruce." Looking around he asked curiously, "Isn't Roy with you? I thought for certain that he'd come in the advance party."  Wayne looked away pensively for a few moments, then shrugging his shoulders he decided to tell his ward the truth.

"I shall tell you in the tent . . . in private."

****

"Sergeant . . ! Sound General Quarters!" The Marine Sergeant and his three-man squad immediately began beating on their drums. Instantly, men began emerging from nooks, crannies, and hidden hatches. They were running and scurrying about the ship's deck like mice, and climbing up seemingly impossible heights like monkeys.

Wallace knew that there was a method to the madness, but for the life of him, he couldn't see any logical pattern to the frenzied activity. Then just as suddenly, the beating stopped, and with it absolute stillness settled over the ship's company.

Up on the bridge, Captain Sir Perry White, Master of  _HMS Manhunter_, Lord Admiral Jones' flagship, began shouting orders; these in turn were immediately echoed by First Officer Leftenant Sir James Olsen, and to Wallace's surprise, repeated at least twice more down the line before being carried out.

"Stand by to weigh anchor!"

"Stand by foc'sle!"

"Stand by mainsail!"

"Bring her about to a heading of . . . "

The mainsail caught the crisp morning breeze and Wallace immediately felt the ship start moving. They were finally underway! The taskforce should reach their disembarkation point within two days!

"Signals . . . and my compliments to the Captains of the _Gotham Town_ and _Prince of Wales_! Last one to Abb's Head buys the first round!"

Wallace smiled. It was nice to see that the navy had a sense of humor and camaraderie, too.

****

"Someone at Castle Wayne is responsible for her disappearance? And you didn't stay to discover who?" Richard's voice had risen in anger with each word. "How could you abandon the search? I want to know who the brigand is . . . and when I do, I'll--!"

"You'll what, Richard?" Wayne interrupted. "Run him through with your saber? No one would blame you, certainly. But finding the fiend who did this is not what's important . . . Rescuing Barbara and the children *is*, however. We've got to find a way to get them out of Melrose Abbey."

"Bruce, that's all I've thought about since last night. I almost left my post today before sunrise!"

He suddenly cried out in agony. The personal pain he'd been fighting throughout the day finally taking its toll.

"Bruce, I could *feel* her. I could *feel* her terror . . . her sense of abandonment and loss. Last night . . . I--I *touched* her, Bruce! Somehow, I *touched* her! When I woke up, my hand was still wet from her tears. But that isn't all . . . she *held* me, Bruce . . . I don't know how to explain it, but *I* was that small boy in her arms . . . the one she called Timmy. She *held* me in her arms . . . " he stopped and blushing furiously, he looked away embarrassed. "She even changed my nappies . . . I . . . well, Timmy had wet his."

He turned anguished eyes to his guardian. "I was *there*, Bruce! I don't know *how*, but I was *there*! I *was* Timmy!"

Richard turned away and walked to the open tent flap. He stood looking out as one by one the watch fires were lit on the perimeter. His posture was one of dejection as he held onto the tent pole that braced the entrance.

"I wanted to talk to her, to tell her it was me, but I couldn't! I couldn't make myself understood through Timmy. It's as if I could think like me, but I couldn't say or do anything a two-year old couldn't. Does that make sense?"

Wayne had been studying his ward intently while he explained the incidents from the night before. Human possession? Was such a thing possible? Was it even desirable? But if it could help rescue Barbara, and it was obviously an ability that the Emerald Eye was giving him, then . . . so be it.

"I say we try to recreate whatever caused these Emerald visions to come to the fore last night. We must get you to go to sleep, but more importantly, we must guarantee that you dream about Barbara, which under the circumstances shouldn't prove too difficult!" he added with a slight half-smile. Much to the Dark Knight's amusement, Richard actually blushed at the statement.

"Fra Haly is well-versed in the healer's arts, but as a servant of God, he is also schooled in some of the arcane arts." At Richard's startled look, he added quickly. "Oh, he's no sorcerer, believe me, but as a member of the Jesuit Order he places a high value on knowledge for its own sake. I have seen him put a man to sleep who had long suffered from severe head seizures. Then by merely telling him that the headaches would be gone when he awoke, the terrible seizures did indeed disappear."

"What are we waiting for, then?" Richard said excitedly. "Let us go and get the goodly father."

At this moment, loud yells suddenly resounded throughout the compound. Shouts of "Halt!" "In the King's Name . . !" could be heard echoing throughout the perimeter. Richard and Wayne rushed outside of the tent. Richard ran to where he'd tethered Nightwing, and not bothering to saddle him, he leaped on his back and took off in the direction of the shouts. He heard a lone horseman at full gallop, unmindful of the sentries' shouted orders. Richard immediately turned Nightwing toward the sounds of the greatest disturbance.

As he approached, the shouts and sounds of chaos grew louder. Then rounding the far bend of the road leading to the encampment, Richard could see in the murky gloom afforded by the quarter moon the lone rider who was causing all of the trouble. All right, he obviously wasn't stopping; therefore, Squire Robin was about to pull one of his favorite feats of horsemanship. As he and the other horseman approached each other at a full gallop, Richard suddenly stood on Nightwing's back. Balancing himself perfectly, man and horse looked like a single creature. As they passed, Richard flew off of Nightwing and threw himself upon the other rider.

Both men fell, and rolled several times before coming to a halt. Richard recovered instantly and drawing his sword, approached his opponent cautiously.

"Do you stand down?" he asked. When no answer was immediately forthcoming, Richard walked closer to his prisoner. This time he placed the blade of the sword none too gently on the man's shoulder, caressing his throat with the cutting edge. Richard repeated his question. "Do you stand down?"

A gloved hand came up cautiously, indicating surrender. As Richard made to remove his sword from the man's shoulder, the *meek* prisoner suddenly exploded into unexpected action. He grabbed Richard's sword by the blade, and unmindful of its razor-sharp edge, pulled it out of Richard's hand and sent it flying about twenty feet away!

"Didn't Gordon teach you any better?" The prisoner suddenly turned round and Richard finally saw whom he had been about to fight: Sir Roy Harper! The redheaded knight smiled broadly at his friend. Shocked at first, then annoyed at being caught off guard, then genuinely pleased to see his friend again, Richard relented and offered Roy a hand up.

"Roy! What brings you here in such a hurry?" Then realizing that Mordant's legions could have found a way to bypass Orrin's forces he asked worriedly, "No news to report of Mordant's movements? Castle Wayne is not danger, is it?"

Roy's easy countenance turned serious for a moment. "Nay, Richard. I bring news, but not of that. Castle Wayne still stands . . . and to the best of my knowledge, Mordant's legions have still not crossed from the Caledonian Lowlands into Avalon." Richard nodded relieved. "But the news I bring . . . Richard, it is about Barbara. Have you been apprised about the manner of her disappearance?"

"Aye, Bruce just informed me that she'd been kidnapped, but that we didn't know who the villain was who did this."

"We've found the villain, Richard. That's why I'm here . . . I must get to their Majesties immediately. Their lives may be in danger." Richard didn't wait any further. He whistled sharply for Nightwing, who instantly came cantering up to his master. Richard quickly mounted, then reaching a hand down for Roy pulled him bodily up behind him.

"Let's go, Nightwing . . !" Richard's noble steed immediately broke into a full gallop; he didn't break his stride until his master gently pulled back on his mane. "Whoa, boy, whoa." Both Richard and Roy dismounted outside the Royal field quarters. Sir Oliver and Sir Barry, personal champions to the King and Queen were sitting outside the tent exchanging war stories before the disturbance. Now, their twin golden heads glinting in the dim light, they stood at full guard position, ready to defend their sovereigns.

"Roy!" Oliver called out, smiling through his roguish beard with genuine pleasure at seeing his ward again. Noting the younger man's grim look, he instantly became all business. "Bring you tidings for their Majesties, Sir Roy?"

"Aye, Sir Oliver," Roy nodded. "I bring tidings of foul deeds . . . of a traitor among us." Oliver's eyes widened, then he nodded grimly.

"Wait here." He entered the tent, then emerged a few minutes later. By this time Wayne also stood outside the tent next to Richard. "Inside . . . everyone."

As he entered the Royal field quarters, Roy suddenly felt awkward. He looked over to where Princess Donna stood looking immaculately beautiful in her light mail. As always close proximity to the Princess Royal took his breath away. How old had she turned on her last birthday? Seventeen years? As if he could ever forget: seventeen years, three months, and ten days. Today he'd been in love with Princess Donna for seventeen years, three months, and ten days.

The Princess Royal greeted Roy with a warm smile of welcome that succeeded in making his knees water. He had to force himself to turn his eyes from her. He had a duty to perform. He walked solemnly to his sovereigns and kneeled before them. "Majesties, I bring tidings of a traitor amongst us."

"Stand, Sir Roy, and tell us of these terrible news," Diana said imperiously. Roy nodded gratefully and stood at attention before their Majesties.

"Lord Wayne commanded me to discover who might have kidnapped the Lady Barbara from the very bosom of Castle Wayne. The only clue we had to her disappearance was this . . . " he pulled out the embroidered handkerchief. "It is saturated with a powerful sleeping potion and was used undoubtedly to render Lady Barbara unconscious. Please handle it with due caution, sire!" he suddenly warned.

Orrin raised a single eyebrow in surprise, but he handled it a bit more gingerly nevertheless.

"As you can see, sire, the initials *JR* are embroidered on the corner of the material. We surmised that the initials belonged to whoever had kidnapped Lady Barbara, but by the same token, whoever kidnapped her could have simply stolen a handkerchief from someone to cast blame and suspicion on another. Therefore, we concentrated on finding who might have had access to the sleeping potion. It was proving a much more daunting task than anticipated, for everyone who might've had access also had a reason for keeping the potion on hand." Roy shook his head in remembered frustration.

"Finally, I had no choice but to authorize a complete search of the castle . . . its outbuildings . . . everything. If the previous undertaking seemed full of impossibilities, this new endeavor seemed even more so. But with Alfred and Lady Selina to render assistance, who could fail? With their help we were able to organize a thorough search using only those personnel whom we felt we could personally trust. For two days and nights we searched, nonstop. I don't know how we did it, without the rest of the staff getting wind of our actions, but we succeeded." He smiled triumphantly.

"Luck was purely on our side, Majesties, because on the second day we discovered a small canister of this sleeping powder in the shared quarters of the junior serving girls. It was well hidden, but Alfred is a tenacious old dog. He's the one who found it . . . in the wardrobe trunk of your lady friend, Richard . . . she of the inviting warm brown eyes . . . Bess!" His smile turned ugly. "When confronted with the canister and the handkerchief, those warm brown eyes became as hard and cold as any serpent's eyes I've ever encountered!"

"Congratulations on a job well, done, Roy!" Richard said. "But, you came riding here as if the culprit hadn't been found yet, or at least, that he or she was still free to commit further mischief."

"And you'd be correct in your assessment, Richard, for Bess had an accomplice. And similar to her own carelessness in keeping such damning evidence, her partner did the same . . . though mayhap his actions were even more foolish, for he used his own handkerchief which bore his own initials: *JR* . . . Jack Rapier!"

"What?" "You can't be serious!" "Preposterous! I've known Jack Rapier since we were children . . !" This last statement was uttered by the King, himself. "His father was my father's personal retainer . . . his family has been in our household for almost three generations!"

Richard didn't wait for the discussion to end. He immediately left the tent and went in search of Rapier. He quickly found him joking quietly with two other clerks.

"Master Rapier!" Richard called, loudly enough to be heard by anyone within a fifty-yard radius. "Prepare to defend yourself, you traitor!" Rapier looked up in shock. He hadn't expected this, at least, not yet; he'd just arrived. He hadn't had the time to bring his plan to full fruition. Recovering his usual aplomb, he held his hands out to indicate he was weaponless.

"Sir Richard, you wouldn't attack an unarmed man," he said. "I'm no swordsman . . . it would hardly be a fair duel."

"Did you give Lady Barbara a fair chance? Or did you *enjoy* overpowering one lone girl and taking her from the people who love her? Is that it, Rapier? Do you like to hurt women and children . . ? Those who are incapable of defending themselves?"

By now they had a circle of curious onlookers, soldiers who were growing angrier by the minute once realization dawned that Rapier was the villain who'd kidnapped Lady Barbara Gordon and turned her over to Mordant.

"Who were you planning on next? Princess Donna? Prince Garth? I think you'd find them each a formidable opponent! Or perhaps assassination was more in line with your plans . . . That's it, isn't it? You'd planned on assassinating one or both of their Majesties. Maybe the entire Royal family?" Rapier was slowly backing up, shaking his head in weak denial.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Sir Richard. You're still overcome with grief over the loss of your betrothed, but I assure you, that I had nothing to do with it! I have been framed by those who would seek vengeance upon me for imagined past wrongs!"

"I won't even dignify your cowardly whimperings with a reply. Prepare to defend yourself, you miserable dog, or *die* where you stand!" He unsheathed his sword. "En garde!" Sir Richard's young, proud stance bespoke of righteous anger, an avenging angel bent on vengeance.

Rapier began blubbering helplessly. He fell on his knees and begged to be spared. Tears fell unashamedly down his face. He clasped his hands in front and begged in loud wracked-filled sobs. He began crawling on his hands and knees towards Richard, sobbing helplessly like a small, frightened child.

Richard's hard, icy-blue eyes were a terrible sight to behold. Later, those who'd stood nearest to him said that they actually saw them begin to glow an unearthly green. Still, others claimed that a harsh emerald aura began to surround him, a green-hued mantle of which one could just catch a glimpse out of the corner of the eye. There . . . yet not there.

Then, just as suddenly, Richard's hard demeanor began to soften. Slowly, the emerald glow that somehow seemed to permeate from him began to dissipate . . . within an eye blink, Sir Richard Lord Grayson, hereditary Chieftain of Clan Grayson, Dumfrieshire and Strathclyde had been transformed back to his normally mild-natured, much too serious self. He blinked his eyes in confusion.

He had been about to run this man through. He knew it . . . he could still feel the power emanating from within . . . a terrible power urging him to take his revenge. It was what he'd wanted wasn't it? The *voice* that had spoken to him during his Emerald Eye-induced visions had been ruthless. Urging him to kill . . . to let go of his baser instincts. Richard had almost done so, but something inside him stopped him. Something that told him that although Rapier deserved it, it wasn't Richard's place to carry out his execution.

He couldn't be sure, but Richard was sure that the intelligence behind the *voice* had smiled in satisfaction. If this had been a test, it appeared that he had somehow passed it. He looked down at Rapier, curled in a fetal position, and could only feel disgust at himself and what he'd almost done. He resheathed his sword.

King Orrin stepped forward and faced the man who'd been his childhood friend.

"Why, Rapier? You and I were once playmates . . . friends." Rapier exploded into a helpless fit of giggles.

"Playmates . . ? Friends . . ? You and I . . ?" He struggled to get the words out between the hysterical laughter. Sir Oliver stepped forward in fit of fury over the knave's insult to his King.

"I'll stay your tongue, sirrah!" he cried, going for his saber. Orrin stayed his hand.

"Nay, Sir Oliver," the King commanded quietly. "Let the man speak."

Rapier finally quieted down and spoke with a semblance of control. He nodded in mock agreement with Orrin.

"Aye, *Sir* Oliver . . . Let the *man* speak. Let *me* speak!" he cried bitterly. "Aye, Your Majesty . . . your most humble, most gracious, most *puissant* Majesty . . . I *am* a man . . ! A plain, ordinary man . . . with no title, no lands, no family  . . . *nothing*!" He quieted down, taking in deep breaths, building the strength to continue. "Playmates . . !" he spat out. "Friends . . ?" He laughed again, bitterly this time.

"My father used to make much of the fact that you and I were born but a few days apart. But because of an accident of birth, you were the Crown Prince and heir to the throne of Avalon, while I was the son of a lowly retainer in your father's brother's household." He sat back on his haunches, remembering his dismal childhood.

"Your most gracious father the King asked his loving brother, the Duke of Yorkshire, if there were any suitable children in his household who might provide *amusement* for the young Crown Prince . . . who was lonely because he had no children his own age with whom to play. So my father and I came to court . . . Father as retainer in the King's household, and I . . . well, I to be your playmate, Sire." Rapier paused as if forgetting where he was.

"Each morning and night, Father admonished me to remember this or that . . . Jack, remember to never eat before young Prince Orrin has taken the first bite. Always allow Prince Orrin to choose the games you play, even if you want to play something else. Always let Prince Orrin win . . . Always agree . . . Always smile . . . Never forget to thank him for the privilege and honor of being allowed to play with him . . . " Rapier stopped out of breath. He shook his fist at Orrin bitterly.

"I wasn't your playmate, Sire; I was your play-thing! A mere toy you used, then discarded when you grew up! Friends?! I was *nothing* to you . . ! I was born into a nothing family and I grew up to be a *nothing* . . . a nobody! Well, Lord Mordant *promised* me that he'd make me a somebody . . . a Crown Prince in his new realm!" Rapier stood straight in proud triumph, his arms outstretched to all. Slowly, he lowered them to his sides. "All I had to do . . . was give up my soul . . . What did it matter, Your Majesty? My soul died a long time ago."

No one said anything for a long moment. Finally, the King spoke. "Sir Oliver, have this man put in chains by Crown's Order, for the kidnapping of Lady Barbara Gordon, most high treason against the people of Avalon, and for crimes most heinous against all of humanity." Orrin looked at Rapier as he ordered his arrest.

"Mayhap a gross wrong was visited upon you unwittingly by Ourselves and Our family . . . for that We express Our deepest regret, for We never intended such hurt. However, We cannot forgive nor overlook the great personal harm that your vengeful actions have brought upon an innocent girl and several of Our youngest subjects, nor the horrors which your aiding and abetting of the evil Necromancer Mordant has released upon Avalon . . . Master Jack Rapier, as your sovereign King by Divine Right *and* Temporal, We condemn you to death for the numerous crimes that have already been stated. The execution will be carried out at midwatch on the morrow, before the Army marches." King Orrin paused. "Remove this traitor from Our sight."

Long after Rapier was hauled away, weeping helplessly, Richard remained, head bowed. After a seeming eternity, he felt a warm and comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Well done, Richard," Wayne said quietly. Richard felt a surge of pride course through him. Not daring to look at each other, the two men walked back to their tent.

Chapter Ten

Home Page FAQs GCPD Archive Fan-Fiction Archive Links

The Legal Stuff - Batman and related characters are the property of DC Comics. This is an unofficial web site and is not endorsed by or affiliated with DC Comics. All stories present on this site are the copyright of each writer, except for those characters and places that are copyright DC Comics. This web site is designed to provide people with information and entertainment relating to the DC Comics' Batman character and is not in any way a profit-making enterprise.