Although he knew better than anyone that he could not use the name Joshua the Great, in the presence of the king, he believed that the epithet was guaranteed, because he was a great king and, more than that, a great friend. He didn't need to be rewarded for fulfilling a soldier's duty, but everything John counted as a blessing in life was due to his friend's generosity. The two spent countless hours together, eating, telling stories and slowly coming to realize that they would have been brothers in another life. The way this life went, they practically were.
"John!"
Joshua strode across the Great Hall and wrapped John in a loving embrace. And in that moment, with all the formality left aside by that informal gesture, John's uneasiness subsided. They were surrounded by enough wood to build John's house twenty times, and yet Joshua's greeting made him feel as if he had simply walked over to his neighbor Marlim's house to borrow a loaf of bread. Before he was in the company of a friend, and also of his king, but in a second place, very distant. He returned the hug warmly.
When they parted, John could see that it was not all right. Joshua looked tired and emaciated, as if for a long time he hadn't brought a good night's sleep. Whatever session I took to summon John, it was undoubtedly the reason and John wanted nothing but his true nature, but there was no place to ask.
"Thank you so much for coming so quickly," said Joshua, as cheerful as he could manage. "How was your journey?"
"Easy," John replied calmly. "I did it well, which I hope to achieve on my return, too." He wasted no time in making Joshua aware that he wanted to leave soon.
Joshua laughed. "You just arrived and are already planning to leave. Is my best friend leaving me already?"
"Your invitation is never less than an honor," said John. "But I feel reticent about being away from Lisandra at the moment."
"I see, how's the beautiful Lisandra? Wait, she's not sick, is she?"
John smiled broadly, just the smile that a future father could give: "Far away he said ..."
Recognizing that kind of look, Joshua smiled, he already had six children and soon would have two more, he took John by the shoulders and hugged him again, more firmly.
"God bless you always, you stud!" Exclaimed Joshua rundo. "How long has she been?"
"About six months. Her back hurts and she walks like a duck, and last week I swear I saw her eating a whole pie in a few minutes, but that still remains the most beautiful woman I've ever put my eyes, and still get her to marry me. "
"She's really beautiful," agreed Joshua. "Expect a son or daughter"
"Lisandra doesn't care and just pray that she is healthy. Me too, but whenever I dream of the child, it's a boy."
"I have no doubt of that," said Joshua, "I pray that we can have you at home before your birth." And something inside John weighed as deep as a stone.
They had dinner together that night, in Joshua's private quarters.
John clearly had no appetite. He suspected, of course, that his hope of returning home the next day was a fantasy, but now it was confirmed. Whatever the task, it shouldn't be measured in days or weeks, but in months Joshua seemed determined to postpone the discussion of anything important as much as possible, leaving John to nod and smile politely while torturing himself on instinct thinking about what the future holds. He shuddered at the memory of the promise he had made to Lisandra just before he left. Thinking of his words, he asked himself, 'did my words fall apart so easily? But who do I owe my loyalty to? My beloved wife, who is carrying my son who is about to be born? Or to my best friend and best king, to whom I owe so much. I have to go home without breaking my promise to you both.
".... Tell me old friend ... do you believe in witchcraft?" Joshua said suddenly.
John's attention returned to the table. The king had been speaking for some time, but the question was so strange that he had stood out from the rest, waiting for his friend's face to twist.
Joshua was never able to keep his face impassive when telling a joke, but now Joshua's expression was so distressed, an affliction like no other John had ever seen, even during the darkest days of the war against the barbarians. 'This is not a joke. And also to that disturbing gleam in Joshua's eyes. '
Suggest that you knew more, much more about the subject that will raise John thought carefully about the answer before saying "I never saw any evidence of witchcraft. So I don't believe in any witchcraft."
"He never saw any proof of God either," replied Joshua, as if anticipating his answer. "And yet, believe me."
"God was with us in Ethandun," commented John in a suspicious voice. "We couldn't have turned that battle tide any other way. I remember you saying that."
"Direct proof," retorted the king. "Something before your eyes that defies all nature, science and reason. Something that cannot be explained."
"So, no. But faith is proof of things we don't see, is it?"
For a long moment, Joshua did not speak. He simply touched the stem of his cup and stared at the blood-red surface of the wine inside him, lost in some obscure thought.
"I saw things," he said through, his voice no more than I am. "Things that took me in my own faith and maybe make you question yours too."
A gust of wind and I hit the window. John couldn't tell if the room had suddenly become colder or if it was just imagination. Anyway, Joshua's attitude or worried. Those were not the words of a rational man, and John would never have imagined that the king had lost his mind.
"Why am I here?" He asked at last.
"In the morning, I'll show you," said Joshua when he got up from his chair, urging John to do the same.
"I'm really not tired at all," said John, determined to find the source that was causing the unusual behavior. "I've come a long way. If that's why I'm here, and if you have something to show me, show me now."
"In the morning, my dear friend," said Joshua, "The things I speak of must not be seen before going to sleep"
John did not sleep. Instead, he turned and turned over and over all night, partly for the bed that was not his, although it was much more comfortable and spacious than that. He rarely spent the night since he made his new life, and when he did, sleep did not come easily. He missed his pillow, even if it was stuffed as it was. He missed the smell of the things that Lisandra baked and allowed to cool overnight. And, above all, he missed Lisandra, the warmth of her back when they nestled in him, his hand on her firm, round belly, feeling his son's gentle movements. All the luxuries, furniture, and artifacts in Joshua's castle only reminded him of how far he was from home.
But for the most part, he did not sleep out of concern for his friend, Vira Joshua, exhausted and melancholy before - many times during the campaign - but never like that. John knew the strength of man better than most people. He knew that the most serious of questions, something more serious than war, would be needed to weigh so heavily on him.
Joshua's words repeated over and over in John's head as he moved uncomfortably under the sheets. 'I saw things that led me to question my own faith.' John knew that Joshua's faith in God was part of his essence. He made him the man he was, had given him the strength to drive out the Nordics, even when everything seemed lost. If all the horrors of the battle, of seeing comrades bloodied and torn apart around him, could not shake this man's belief, then, in the name of God, what could? It was an issue that John could not resolve, although they searched his brain, and she still haunted him when the first cock crowed and one of Joshua's pages arrived to pick him up.
Joshua was waiting for John in the Great Hall. He did not offer breakfast, nor did he ask how John slept, as it was quite obvious. While the king, the night before, chose not to discuss the matter, that morning he seemed determined not to postpone it any longer. He escorted John through the winding corridors of the castle until they reached a door the knight did not know; he thought he had known the whole castle during his time there, but it seemed he was mistaken.
The door was made of oak, of the heaviest, and closed with an iron gate that appeared to have been installed recently. Two guards guarded the entrance. John didn't like that. You will never appreciate small spaces. Looking back, he realized that the walls along with the ceiling had gradually closed as they progressed down the corridor, and at that moment they reached the end of what looked more like a tunnel. He was already beginning to feel clearly uncomfortable.
"What is that?" He asked.
"The dungeon," replied Joshua. He nodded to one of the guards, who unlocked the iron gate and opened it, and then did the same with the door behind him.
"Here," said Joshua. He pulled out an embroidered scarf and offered it to John.
It was damp, and it was almost oppressive, but not unpleasant, the smell of the material in which he had been dipped. John was not an expert on herbs or flowers, but his friend Ramon, who owned one of the fields next to his, cultivated many types. of aromatic plants, and for that reason recognized and aroma- a preparation of Lavanda Cheia, Pencil of the Nile and Mint Melon. It was no different from the perfume that Lisandra had made for herself with a handful of herbs that Ramon gave him as a welcome gift when they entered the house. John found it comforting; for him, it had sniffed, and then the dungeon door clicked open and something rose in the damp, musty air.
John couldn't identify him - he had never smelled that before - but he was putrid. Immediately he took the handkerchief to his nose and mouth, but even the strong scent of the perfume only partially blocked the stench. John looked at Joshua and noticed that he didn't have a handkerchief. "Where's yours at?" John asked confused.
"I'm sad to say I got used to the smell," replied Joshua. He lifted a lighted torch from its holder on the nearby wall, and they began to descend. John followed the king up winding stairs. Ahead of them followed one of Joshua's guards, while the other will remain up there, locking and blocking the door behind them. Everyone walked carefully during the descent, John mostly; the damp stone steps seemed slippery, and his mind was spinning at full speed with thoughts of what might await them below.
The Wythchester dungeon was not reserved for deserters and common criminals, who were generally frightened by the stake, nor for tall enemies of the crown, sent to the tower, but for the worst and most despicable ones who sought to harm Joshua's kingdom. 'Who would be down there? A barbarian spy caught with news of a new attack? A frustrated killer? Or something beyond your busy imagination? ' John didn't know if he was relieved or terrified that he would soon find out.
With each step, the stench rose from the darkness and grew more powerful. John twisted the handkerchief Joshua had given him to get more of its fragrant scent, but to no avail. Even with the handkerchief pressing firmly against his face, the stench was so strong when they reached the bottom of the steps that John could barely keep from retching. 'What the hell was that? Sulfur, perhaps? Pure sulfur from the Golden Ravine Mines? The smell is similar but worse. '
Even in the clear light of the torches, the narrow corridor they reached little revealed stone walls on either side that stretched only a few meters before disappearing into the deepest, most impenetrable darkness John had ever seen.
It was not normal darkness, it was not just the absence of the light itself; it was as if something below was radiating its own darkness, filling every corner of the dungeon. John was not a man who was easily nervous, but at that moment he was overcome by an immense desire to take a few steps back, wanting to be well away from that place. Still, he held on tight. The guard, with his torch lighting the way, led Joshua and John down a narrow corridor, passing cell after cell empty. Although the flame crackled briskly, he stubbornly refused to reveal anything that was more than a few meters ahead. At least it must cast a weak light over the entire length of the tunnel there, it was reduced to an isolated beam of light in a sea of impassable preenume John began to hear something. A rasping sound in the darkness before your eyes.
Snorted and snarled. Some kind of animal. He sounded sick or hurt, but not in the way he had heard, and he took care of many animals on his farm. He shuddered when his suspicion grew that, whatever was being held there, he fell into the last feared category - the thing that went beyond his imagination.
The guard stopped. "Don't go any further," he warned. In front of them, a line had been marked on the floor with bright yellow pastel paint over the flame light, and a few meters ahead, the iron bars of the last cell at the end of the corridor could hardly be seen in the darkness. The cell looked different from the others. The bottom half of the bars was full of rust and a strange, greenish corrosion: also crumbled and scratched, as if something had chewed the bars, and some still dripped a shiny, viscous saliva.
Then something moved in the cell, something primitive and horrible, crawling and snorting on the floor. Whatever it was, it was almost crawling on the floor. For a moment, he thought he had spotted a clawed foot, like that of an overgrown cat. But then the torchlight reflected a cluster of reptilian scales.
Was it his mind playing tricks on him there in that darkness? The guard used the torch to light another that hung on the wall. He waited for the flame to ignite and then threw it at the feet of the iron bars. John started and started back in alarm when the creature inside let out a terrible scream, which was amplified by the nearby stone walls, which made him shiver.
The creature moved away from the flames to a dark corner of the cell, but then slowly moved towards the light, and John finally saw the full nature of that thing that looked like rotting straw that covered the cell floor in six short legs like those of a lizard, each membranous foot with several large curved claws. The body was scaly, but its shape was that of a plump pig, and it had the snout and fangs of a pig too, although the eyelidless eyes were obviously reptilian, bright red with a streak of yellow iris.
The unspeakable thing approached the fallen torch, sniffing the smoldering embers between the bars. He extended his snout and grabbed the torch with his mouth, struggling for a moment to try to pass it through the bars. Finally, he released the torch, then took it again by its curved tip, pulling it long through the bars.
John watched her in morbid fascination when the beast opened its mouth, revealing rows of drooling tusks, thin as needles, bit the torch with a loud crack, and then smashed it frantically before swallowing it with flame and all.
The guard took a step back, waving his hand at Joshua and John. Then, after having swallowed the last part of the torch, the beast belched a hot burst of bright orange flame. In the brief burst of light, John saw that much of the cell wall had been scorched and streaked with fire. Contrary to common sense, John found himself getting closer, crossing the line on the floor without thinking. Alarmed, the guard reached out and grabbed his shoulder, but it was too late. The beast had spotted John and had gone mad. Drooling like a rabid dog, he threw himself hard against the bars, screaming as he hit his claws in the air.
When the guard tried to pull John back, an incredibly long tongue unfolded from the creature's mouth and wrapped around John's wrist. He screamed and tried to break free, but the beast was stronger, much stronger. She ran backwards towards the bottom of the cell, dragging John with her. Joshua grabbed John's free arm and steadied his feet. But even the combined strength of two grown men was not necessarily sufficient.
When they were both drawn closer to the beast, the guard drew his sword and began to strike his tongue in frenzy, cutting it only on the fifth blade swing they were finally free. Finally free, John and Joshua fell to the floor together.
The injured animal rolled on its back as well, howling and kicked hysterically. Moving fast, the guard pulled a dagger from his belt and slid the blade under the cut piece of tongue that still clutched John's wrist. With a firm upward tug, he released his tongue, and it fell to the ground, still writhing like a fish struggling on the banks of a river. Joshua stood up at once with a water skin, pouring a little on John's wrist when the thing was removed the flesh hissed, swirls of smoke rose, and John saw the bright red welt around the wrist where the tongue was rolled up. The top layer of skin had been burned and torn off by the beast's saliva.
"She spits acid!", Joshua spoke with a dejected expression. "That's why we don't go any further."
John was still vaguely in shock. He picked up the water skin and took a big sip. He looked back at the prison. The creature seemed to have calmed down. She was lying on her stomach in front of the cell, her head tilted to the side, and lazily chewed the bars like a dog with a juicy bone. John watched as his wounded and bleeding tongue licked the iron, covering it with drool. corrosive.
"I ordered that everyone else be eliminated," explained Joshua. "This one, despite my reluctance, I kept, For who would believe this story just by listening to my words?"
"In the name of God, what is this thing?" Asked John, still having trouble breathing.
"One thing I am absolutely sure of," said Joshua, in a somber tone. "Whatever it is, it was not created in the name of God."