A Wounded Tiger
by J. T. Wheeling
Genre: Historical
Swearwords: None.
Description: A historical legend with a fantasy touch.
_____________________________________________________________________
‘Another hundred steps,’ Don Carlos muttered to himself as he gazed across the seemingly endless plain. He wondered about the fiends hunting him but prayed that they would have followed his horse, which he had sent off to its home stable during the night. If his pursuers had followed it, so much the better, but now he feared them less than the weather which continued to deteriorate. The dull grey sky promised snow, though the intense cold continued to hold it back.
He stared forward, seeking some sign of change, but the plain vanished into the distance without any alteration in its soul numbing dreariness. It was not quite as cold as it had been and, briefly, the false hope lent a little strength to his flagging steps.
Gentle as a lover’s caress, soft flakes drifted down to tickle his cold cheeks and melt in his stubble. Imperceptibly, they became more numerous and visibility closed around him. His steps grew steadily more difficult as the snow deepened and clung to his boots.
‘One foot in front of the other,’ he kept mumbling, and the endurance trial continued. Existence shrank to a whirling white hell of cold gnawing at his bones, with sinews protesting each further step. Hope of survival shrank to a dull determination to manage another ten paces, then another, then another. ‘I mustn’t stop,’ he repeated continuously to himself, though by then his target had diminished to taking just one more step. The snow was almost knee-deep when, in the fading daylight, he became aware of a shadow to his right. Any shelter from the driving wind, now howling across the land, would be welcome.
Suddenly his cursed, unforgiving memory awoke and he gasped. His head swam as remembrance of all his previous lives surged back. He knew this place from long ago, indeed another life. ‘Does it still stand?’ he wondered, as hope spurred him up the short track to the buildings.
A gateway led to a courtyard and a dim light flickered from a small window. Don Carlos struck his fist three times on the adjoining door. After a short interval, it opened and a small bristly man, apparently unsurprised by his arrival, addressed him.
‘You’ll require shelter?’
Don Carlos nodded, while wondering at the fellow’s lack of curiosity.
‘I must present all travellers to Donna Elvira. Please follow me,’ and the little man squeezed past Don Carlos and, ignoring the snow, led the way to a much larger portal at the back of the courtyard. Above loomed a tower, a pale shadow in the poor light.
While his guide fumbled with a large key, the name Elvira lit a flame in Carlos’s heart. Could it be the same one? Was she still alive? He tried to calculate the years...at least thirty three long winters ago.
The door opened and, going in, the guide pulled hard on a bell rope. ‘Now we must wait,’ he announced. Thankful to be sheltered from the storm, Don Carlos stood, still pondering about Donna Elvira.
Some minutes later a tall stately man appeared. He carried a lamp and eyed the visitor shrewdly. ‘Thank you, Pedro,’ he said. ‘You may leave us now.’
He turned to Carlos as the door closed behind Pedro. ‘Perhaps I may have your name?’ he enquired.
‘I am Don Carlos.’
‘Please leave your cloak and sword here and follow me. I am Jasper, Donna Elvira’s servant.’
Carlos gratefully took off his sodden cloak, placed his sword in a corner then followed Jasper up a stairway.
‘The traveller, Don Carlos,’ Jasper announced as he opened a door into a large firelit room. Carlos entered as Jasper bowed and left the chamber.
Don Carlos stared at the frail but elegant figure of a silver haired lady who stood to receive him. His heart hammered madly as he recognized the still huge blue eyes and the fine boned structure of her face. He sank to his knees, held out his arms and said, ‘I promised to return.’ Tears ran down his face, blurring his vision as she approached.
Her hands lifted his bowed head and her eyes looked intensely into his.
‘Where did they kill you?’ she asked softly.
He swallowed then managed to reply, ‘In Toledo, thirty two years ago.’
‘And the curse held?’
‘Yes. I was born the following year but remembered nothing till I came near to you again. I have been a soldier of some distinction but have again fallen foul of fanatical priests.’
Her eyes closed and tears stained her cheeks. ‘Oh my poor boy, not again. The same vengeance and the same demons. Will they never give up?’
‘Not until I have defeated them,’ and then he stood up and told her of his plan.
‘So far to travel and such a perilous voyage. But come, first you need food and rest. Sit by this fire and I will arrange things.’
While Carlos sank into a deep chair she went out and he heard her issuing a series of instructions. Though lulled by the warmth Carlos fought to stay awake. To find her again across the boundaries of space and time filled him with wonder. Even though he recognised the hand of fate and the working of the curse, his heart sang with joy.
The aroma from a steaming cauldron of soup jolted him out of his daydream and Elvira’s hand caressed his cheek. ‘My darling, you must eat before you sleep. A room is being prepared and Jasper will make sure you do not fall asleep in your bath. I have much to tell you that may be of help for your journey, but we will talk about that in the morning when you have rested.’
Her remembered, radiant smile lit her face. ‘I have waited for this moment for the last fifteen years. I knew that somehow you would return to me, if only for a brief time, and now my waiting is over. But now you must sleep and recover from your ordeal.’
An hour later Don Carlos, having bathed in a substantial copper tub, sank into a warmed bed. Sleep seized him instantly and the hours slipped away.
They came for him at midnight. First there were the hooded figures, mouthing threats, promising torment. ‘Recant!’ they cried, again and again. ‘Recant and we will give you merciful release! Recant your heresies, your arrogant beliefs, your pride! Humble yourself and beg for salvation,’ and Don Carlos heard a voice—his?—reply ‘Never!’ Then the pain began and wracked his body and still he cried ‘Never, you are all fools!’
He woke at last from this nightmare, half convinced that the old inquisitors held him, and lay panting. His muscles were rebelling against the use to which he had put them, so he sat up and attempted some gentle massage. He then drank some water and again lay down. Much later he dreamed again, but this time it was peaceful as he felt himself surrounded by nuns. ‘Benedict,’ they said, ‘we knew you would return. You could not leave your task undone and you have come home to try once more.’
Again he remembered, not just his last life but all those he had been back through the long odyssey of his soul, and the knowledge was like a strong wine, coursing through his veins. Now he knew how to deal with his enemies, they who had pursued him down the centuries and who, in this life, had driven him from his rightful position and again robbed him of his heritage. It had happened before to the man called Benedict when his castle and adjoining nunnery had been destroyed. Now his foes had struck again making him an outlaw in his own land.
At the far end of the high plateau he came to the broken ridges which led down through old river beds to more hospitable lands below. Walking down, the mountains rose around him to hide the remnants of the desolate waste he had left behind. Ahead they stretched their ridges out towards the lowlands, like petrified waves. Don Carlos strode down the river valley, joyful with the sound of running waters fed by the white slopes behind.
By evening he had reached the flatter lands beyond, where a prosperous town straddled the river. A gold coin bought him not only a good meal and a comfortable bed at the inn, but also a berth on a barge leaving for the coast in the morning. Though loaded with local produce, there was space for a passenger and the boatman claimed he would be glad of the company. Pleased he may have been, but he was a silent creature, leaving Don Carlos to his own thoughts for most of the three day journey. He sat and gazed at the passing country and mused upon his newly acquired memories. The most recent was of his life as a founding member of the first military order of knights in Spain, the order of Calatrava, in 1158. Then he recollected the quarrel with his leader and subsequent banishment.
His present troubles stemmed from the death of his grandfather, Enrique the Fourth of Castile. Isabel denied the legitimacy of Don Carlos’s mother, Juana la Beltraneja. As a loyal, supportive son he was now an exile and, lacking a friend at court, false denouncements to Torquemada were accepted without question. Though he had killed the eldest of four brothers, it had been in self defence, but they sought revenge by way of his life and his lands. He felt confident that, given a chance to speak to Fernando and Isabel, he could justify his actions and obtain a pardon. However he knew that his enemies, allied as they were to the Inquisition, would not, indeed dare not, allow any such conversation. He possessed evidence of their disloyalty and deceit. Somehow he had to separate his foes from his sovereigns and silence them.
He spent the rest of the voyage drafting a letter to the one man he could trust. It would contain two enclosures, one addressed to Torquemada's assistant, charged with his interrogation, and the other to Fernando and Isabel. In the letter to the Inquisition he offered to present himself at exactly ten o’clock before a special court containing all his accusers on the first of June next year, 1485, in the cathedral of Burgos. If they failed to find him guilty, he asked for free passage to the court of Fernando and Isabel. Agreement to his terms should be posted on the main gate of the city for one week prior to the date. In the letter to his King and Queen he explained that he would submit himself to his accusers on the first of June, some six months hence, and, providing only that they did not pronounce him guilty, begged permission to present himself before them to take an oath of fealty and seek their forgiveness. His outstanding skill as a warrior would, he hoped, commend him to them.
The river trip to the coast passed without incident. At the busy seaport he took lodging for a few nights while arranging to buy a small ship and hire a crew. Six days later he sailed east, having despatched his missive by a reliable carrier. His crew were informed that, provided they returned successfully from their voyage, a substantial sum would be paid to each of them from his banker in the port. He had interviewed each applicant carefully and was satisfied that he had picked as good a crew as was possible. He told them little of their destination, for they were to sail almost as far east as the Cyclades, and with Turkish sea power this would be hazardous.
Fortune was with them and they reached Argos without incident. There, in the dead of night, Don Carlos dug up that which he had buried millenniums before, putting the old casket into a larger, new one he had brought with him. Now he had a defence for his homeward run but, once again, apart from some violent storms, the return journey was without incident. His crew paid off, the ship sold and the receipt for his message in hand, Don Carlos set off for Burgos.
He arrived there towards the end of May and, suitably disguised, obtained work with masons at the cathedral. After almost two centuries of construction, current work was limited to embellishment and Don Carlos was able to complete his arrangements without hindrance. He had specified that he would present himself before the great Golden Staircase, upon which his accusers and inquisitors would stand, precisely at ten o’clock on the morning of the first of June.
Knowing Don Carlos to be a man of his word, but failing to understand why he would present himself before them, the four inquisitors brought a small armed guard with them. They arrived in Burgos on the last day of May, together with the three men prepared to give witness against him. By nine o’clock all were assembled on the golden staircase that linked the nave with the Puerta Alta, which usually was kept locked. They waited in silence for their victim to walk into the trap, each one musing over the methods by which they would make him confess. After he was dead, his considerable possessions would be confiscated and there were ways to ensure that they fell into the right hands.
The minutes ticked away and still they waited. At five minutes before ten there was a thunderous knocking on the locked door. By the time the soldiers had opened it there was nobody outside, only a large coffin on a trolley with a notice pinned to it.
In large letters it proclaimed, ‘I said I would come but I may be beyond your reach!’
‘Bring it inside and lock that door,’ ordered the chief inquisitor. Once he had been obeyed he ordered the coffin opened. They all gathered round to see the body, hoping it might still be alive. The lid was prized back, then silence fell…..and remained.
Five minutes later Don Carlos came from above and, taking great care not to look at what occupied the coffin, came down the stairs. Using a mirror he threw a sack over the thing in the coffin then picked it up and placed it in the casket he had brought. He glanced at the stone figures grouped around the coffin, ‘You failed to pronounce me guilty!’ he said, and left to seek his audience with Fernando and Isabel. On his way he would again bury Medusa’s head in a place that only he could find. The old weapons were still the best, he thought, and his pursuers would make wonderful gargoyles.
Be wary of pursuing your vengeance too far lest it turn upon you like a wounded tiger.
Swearwords: None.
Description: A historical legend with a fantasy touch.
_____________________________________________________________________
‘Another hundred steps,’ Don Carlos muttered to himself as he gazed across the seemingly endless plain. He wondered about the fiends hunting him but prayed that they would have followed his horse, which he had sent off to its home stable during the night. If his pursuers had followed it, so much the better, but now he feared them less than the weather which continued to deteriorate. The dull grey sky promised snow, though the intense cold continued to hold it back.
He stared forward, seeking some sign of change, but the plain vanished into the distance without any alteration in its soul numbing dreariness. It was not quite as cold as it had been and, briefly, the false hope lent a little strength to his flagging steps.
Gentle as a lover’s caress, soft flakes drifted down to tickle his cold cheeks and melt in his stubble. Imperceptibly, they became more numerous and visibility closed around him. His steps grew steadily more difficult as the snow deepened and clung to his boots.
‘One foot in front of the other,’ he kept mumbling, and the endurance trial continued. Existence shrank to a whirling white hell of cold gnawing at his bones, with sinews protesting each further step. Hope of survival shrank to a dull determination to manage another ten paces, then another, then another. ‘I mustn’t stop,’ he repeated continuously to himself, though by then his target had diminished to taking just one more step. The snow was almost knee-deep when, in the fading daylight, he became aware of a shadow to his right. Any shelter from the driving wind, now howling across the land, would be welcome.
Suddenly his cursed, unforgiving memory awoke and he gasped. His head swam as remembrance of all his previous lives surged back. He knew this place from long ago, indeed another life. ‘Does it still stand?’ he wondered, as hope spurred him up the short track to the buildings.
A gateway led to a courtyard and a dim light flickered from a small window. Don Carlos struck his fist three times on the adjoining door. After a short interval, it opened and a small bristly man, apparently unsurprised by his arrival, addressed him.
‘You’ll require shelter?’
Don Carlos nodded, while wondering at the fellow’s lack of curiosity.
‘I must present all travellers to Donna Elvira. Please follow me,’ and the little man squeezed past Don Carlos and, ignoring the snow, led the way to a much larger portal at the back of the courtyard. Above loomed a tower, a pale shadow in the poor light.
While his guide fumbled with a large key, the name Elvira lit a flame in Carlos’s heart. Could it be the same one? Was she still alive? He tried to calculate the years...at least thirty three long winters ago.
The door opened and, going in, the guide pulled hard on a bell rope. ‘Now we must wait,’ he announced. Thankful to be sheltered from the storm, Don Carlos stood, still pondering about Donna Elvira.
Some minutes later a tall stately man appeared. He carried a lamp and eyed the visitor shrewdly. ‘Thank you, Pedro,’ he said. ‘You may leave us now.’
He turned to Carlos as the door closed behind Pedro. ‘Perhaps I may have your name?’ he enquired.
‘I am Don Carlos.’
‘Please leave your cloak and sword here and follow me. I am Jasper, Donna Elvira’s servant.’
Carlos gratefully took off his sodden cloak, placed his sword in a corner then followed Jasper up a stairway.
‘The traveller, Don Carlos,’ Jasper announced as he opened a door into a large firelit room. Carlos entered as Jasper bowed and left the chamber.
Don Carlos stared at the frail but elegant figure of a silver haired lady who stood to receive him. His heart hammered madly as he recognized the still huge blue eyes and the fine boned structure of her face. He sank to his knees, held out his arms and said, ‘I promised to return.’ Tears ran down his face, blurring his vision as she approached.
Her hands lifted his bowed head and her eyes looked intensely into his.
‘Where did they kill you?’ she asked softly.
He swallowed then managed to reply, ‘In Toledo, thirty two years ago.’
‘And the curse held?’
‘Yes. I was born the following year but remembered nothing till I came near to you again. I have been a soldier of some distinction but have again fallen foul of fanatical priests.’
Her eyes closed and tears stained her cheeks. ‘Oh my poor boy, not again. The same vengeance and the same demons. Will they never give up?’
‘Not until I have defeated them,’ and then he stood up and told her of his plan.
‘So far to travel and such a perilous voyage. But come, first you need food and rest. Sit by this fire and I will arrange things.’
While Carlos sank into a deep chair she went out and he heard her issuing a series of instructions. Though lulled by the warmth Carlos fought to stay awake. To find her again across the boundaries of space and time filled him with wonder. Even though he recognised the hand of fate and the working of the curse, his heart sang with joy.
The aroma from a steaming cauldron of soup jolted him out of his daydream and Elvira’s hand caressed his cheek. ‘My darling, you must eat before you sleep. A room is being prepared and Jasper will make sure you do not fall asleep in your bath. I have much to tell you that may be of help for your journey, but we will talk about that in the morning when you have rested.’
Her remembered, radiant smile lit her face. ‘I have waited for this moment for the last fifteen years. I knew that somehow you would return to me, if only for a brief time, and now my waiting is over. But now you must sleep and recover from your ordeal.’
An hour later Don Carlos, having bathed in a substantial copper tub, sank into a warmed bed. Sleep seized him instantly and the hours slipped away.
They came for him at midnight. First there were the hooded figures, mouthing threats, promising torment. ‘Recant!’ they cried, again and again. ‘Recant and we will give you merciful release! Recant your heresies, your arrogant beliefs, your pride! Humble yourself and beg for salvation,’ and Don Carlos heard a voice—his?—reply ‘Never!’ Then the pain began and wracked his body and still he cried ‘Never, you are all fools!’
He woke at last from this nightmare, half convinced that the old inquisitors held him, and lay panting. His muscles were rebelling against the use to which he had put them, so he sat up and attempted some gentle massage. He then drank some water and again lay down. Much later he dreamed again, but this time it was peaceful as he felt himself surrounded by nuns. ‘Benedict,’ they said, ‘we knew you would return. You could not leave your task undone and you have come home to try once more.’
Again he remembered, not just his last life but all those he had been back through the long odyssey of his soul, and the knowledge was like a strong wine, coursing through his veins. Now he knew how to deal with his enemies, they who had pursued him down the centuries and who, in this life, had driven him from his rightful position and again robbed him of his heritage. It had happened before to the man called Benedict when his castle and adjoining nunnery had been destroyed. Now his foes had struck again making him an outlaw in his own land.
At the far end of the high plateau he came to the broken ridges which led down through old river beds to more hospitable lands below. Walking down, the mountains rose around him to hide the remnants of the desolate waste he had left behind. Ahead they stretched their ridges out towards the lowlands, like petrified waves. Don Carlos strode down the river valley, joyful with the sound of running waters fed by the white slopes behind.
By evening he had reached the flatter lands beyond, where a prosperous town straddled the river. A gold coin bought him not only a good meal and a comfortable bed at the inn, but also a berth on a barge leaving for the coast in the morning. Though loaded with local produce, there was space for a passenger and the boatman claimed he would be glad of the company. Pleased he may have been, but he was a silent creature, leaving Don Carlos to his own thoughts for most of the three day journey. He sat and gazed at the passing country and mused upon his newly acquired memories. The most recent was of his life as a founding member of the first military order of knights in Spain, the order of Calatrava, in 1158. Then he recollected the quarrel with his leader and subsequent banishment.
His present troubles stemmed from the death of his grandfather, Enrique the Fourth of Castile. Isabel denied the legitimacy of Don Carlos’s mother, Juana la Beltraneja. As a loyal, supportive son he was now an exile and, lacking a friend at court, false denouncements to Torquemada were accepted without question. Though he had killed the eldest of four brothers, it had been in self defence, but they sought revenge by way of his life and his lands. He felt confident that, given a chance to speak to Fernando and Isabel, he could justify his actions and obtain a pardon. However he knew that his enemies, allied as they were to the Inquisition, would not, indeed dare not, allow any such conversation. He possessed evidence of their disloyalty and deceit. Somehow he had to separate his foes from his sovereigns and silence them.
He spent the rest of the voyage drafting a letter to the one man he could trust. It would contain two enclosures, one addressed to Torquemada's assistant, charged with his interrogation, and the other to Fernando and Isabel. In the letter to the Inquisition he offered to present himself at exactly ten o’clock before a special court containing all his accusers on the first of June next year, 1485, in the cathedral of Burgos. If they failed to find him guilty, he asked for free passage to the court of Fernando and Isabel. Agreement to his terms should be posted on the main gate of the city for one week prior to the date. In the letter to his King and Queen he explained that he would submit himself to his accusers on the first of June, some six months hence, and, providing only that they did not pronounce him guilty, begged permission to present himself before them to take an oath of fealty and seek their forgiveness. His outstanding skill as a warrior would, he hoped, commend him to them.
The river trip to the coast passed without incident. At the busy seaport he took lodging for a few nights while arranging to buy a small ship and hire a crew. Six days later he sailed east, having despatched his missive by a reliable carrier. His crew were informed that, provided they returned successfully from their voyage, a substantial sum would be paid to each of them from his banker in the port. He had interviewed each applicant carefully and was satisfied that he had picked as good a crew as was possible. He told them little of their destination, for they were to sail almost as far east as the Cyclades, and with Turkish sea power this would be hazardous.
Fortune was with them and they reached Argos without incident. There, in the dead of night, Don Carlos dug up that which he had buried millenniums before, putting the old casket into a larger, new one he had brought with him. Now he had a defence for his homeward run but, once again, apart from some violent storms, the return journey was without incident. His crew paid off, the ship sold and the receipt for his message in hand, Don Carlos set off for Burgos.
He arrived there towards the end of May and, suitably disguised, obtained work with masons at the cathedral. After almost two centuries of construction, current work was limited to embellishment and Don Carlos was able to complete his arrangements without hindrance. He had specified that he would present himself before the great Golden Staircase, upon which his accusers and inquisitors would stand, precisely at ten o’clock on the morning of the first of June.
Knowing Don Carlos to be a man of his word, but failing to understand why he would present himself before them, the four inquisitors brought a small armed guard with them. They arrived in Burgos on the last day of May, together with the three men prepared to give witness against him. By nine o’clock all were assembled on the golden staircase that linked the nave with the Puerta Alta, which usually was kept locked. They waited in silence for their victim to walk into the trap, each one musing over the methods by which they would make him confess. After he was dead, his considerable possessions would be confiscated and there were ways to ensure that they fell into the right hands.
The minutes ticked away and still they waited. At five minutes before ten there was a thunderous knocking on the locked door. By the time the soldiers had opened it there was nobody outside, only a large coffin on a trolley with a notice pinned to it.
In large letters it proclaimed, ‘I said I would come but I may be beyond your reach!’
‘Bring it inside and lock that door,’ ordered the chief inquisitor. Once he had been obeyed he ordered the coffin opened. They all gathered round to see the body, hoping it might still be alive. The lid was prized back, then silence fell…..and remained.
Five minutes later Don Carlos came from above and, taking great care not to look at what occupied the coffin, came down the stairs. Using a mirror he threw a sack over the thing in the coffin then picked it up and placed it in the casket he had brought. He glanced at the stone figures grouped around the coffin, ‘You failed to pronounce me guilty!’ he said, and left to seek his audience with Fernando and Isabel. On his way he would again bury Medusa’s head in a place that only he could find. The old weapons were still the best, he thought, and his pursuers would make wonderful gargoyles.
Be wary of pursuing your vengeance too far lest it turn upon you like a wounded tiger.
About the Author
Born in Airdrie and now living in Edinburgh, J. T. Wheeling retired from venture capital work after forty years to write primarily for youngsters. In his own words: “My main purpose in writing is to encourage youngsters to take a more positive view of the future and develop a constructive and tolerant attitude with which to tackle their lives – if that doesn't sound too pompous!”
Visit his website at http://jtwheeling.com to find out more about his trilogy, Tomorrow’s Children.
Visit his website at http://jtwheeling.com to find out more about his trilogy, Tomorrow’s Children.