Chapter Three: The Fall of Joseph

JOSEPH EXPERTLY NOTCHED an arrow in his bow and followed his intended target with his eye. Exhaling slowly, Joseph released the tension and allowed the arrow to travel. A moment later, a soft grunt of pain came from the grey-haired boar. Joseph leapt to his feet and walked over to the wild hog. The Baron's only son knelt before the hog, and removed a simple knife from his belt to hold over the neck of the dying beast. He closed his eyes and began to whisper. "For this meal I take, Lord, I thank thee. Cleanse me of sins, Father, and free this animal of suffering." Joseph opened his eyes and plunged the knife into the base of the dying boar's neck. The boar gave one last grunt before it's life force vanished from the world.

"Excellent hunting," came a voice from behind. Joseph craned his neck, and unsurprisingly, found his mentor and longtime friend Jacob close behind. Jacob, whom Joseph had grown to view as an older brother after so many years of friendship. It was Jacob that taught the Baron's son all of what he knew about hunting, and a great deal about Christianity. Joseph stood to his feet and grasped the fellow hunter's extended hand with his. "How's the hunt?" Joseph asked.

The middle aged hunter pointed to three medium sized rabbits laying limp on the forest floor. "The hunt is good, brother." Jacob motioned to the stiff hog. "I see Our Lord has been kind to you today."

"Thankfully," replied the younger man. "He has been gracious all week, in fact."

Jacob fiddled with the satchel on his belt and removed two plump, red apples. He bit one apple with his left hand and tossed his friend the other apple with his right. Joseph caught the flying fruit with his left hand, an ability that seemed exceptional to his peers: the Baron's son was ambidextrous. Joseph bit into his own apple and expressed satisfaction with a grunt.

The two friends finished their apples in silence, and both leaned against nearby trees. In a way, the two's personalities were so similar, it seemed as if Joseph could be Jacob's son. It was true that both men shared certain mental characteristics, but the similarities did not end there. Both men were lanky and muscular, and both men shared a knack for the school of arrow and bow.

And then there was the fact that they both had the same colored eyes. Whereas Joseph's father and mother had green and blue irises, respectively, Joseph himself inherited a deep brown.

The two men finished their lunch and tossed the apple cores away. As the apple cores hit the ground, the friends became aware of a horse approaching them from nearby. The soft thud of the horses hooves indicated the nearness of the beast. Soon, a castle steward appeared upon a dark brown steed. The rider was female, and plain.

"Your father requests your presence in the throne room," the woman said simply.

"Is it urgent?" Joseph asked. The woman nodded, and stared past him.

"I'll take care of the animals," Jacob said, with a hand on Joseph's shoulder. "You go to your father. We've caught enough for a few meals, at least. I'll be only a few minutes behind."

Joseph nodded. He placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. A moment later, his personal horse, a black stallion, appeared. Joseph leapt up on the leather saddle and took the reigns. He directed the horse to follow the stewardess.

The horses traveled the forest quickly, and Joseph raised his voice to ask the stewardess a question. "What is this matter regarding?"

Instead of an answer, the woman kicked her horse in the side, causing the brown steed to gallop ahead of Joseph. Joseph shook his head and wondered why the woman chose to ignore him. "What's going on?" he asked himself.

Soon, the Redflower castle appeared, and Joseph rode to moat. The drawbridge was already opened, and Joseph continued on through, wondering why the guards seemed to stare stonily ahead. He hitched his horse in the stables just inside the castle, and left his bow and arrows by the stallion. He began to walk briskly to the stairwell that would lead him to the throne room. The sixteen year old traveled up the stairs quickly, taking two steps at a time in an effort to reach the throne room quicker. In a moment, Joseph stood before the carefully chiseled wooden door that would open to reveal his father's throne room. He straightened his countenance and took a deep breath before pushing the oak forward.

"Mr Lord," he cried as he dropped to his knees. Joseph automatically shut his eyes, as if voluntarily blinding himself would remove the scene of horror that had momentarily invaded his senses. Joseph brought his two hands together, palms flat, and he whispered a prayer. "Keep me Lord, from the hands of the wicked." The prayer, however, was cut off. Two gruff hands, thick with callous, wrapped around each of Joseph's muscular arms. He opened his eyes, surprised to be held captive, by his own men nonetheless.

"Traitors," the teenager spoke. "Your allegiance was with my father!"

No reply came from the two guards, who slowly pushed Joseph towards the steps of the throne, in which a great scene of treachery and death was painted. On the stone steps of assorted sizes and shapes, lay two headless bodies, cloaked in royal colors. A pool of blood lay on the bottom of the steps, and drops of the crimson liquid still fell from the gaping holes. But before the elegant throne of carved wood was a tall, slender man, who himself was dressed in an equally crimson suit. Atop his head was the coronet of the family, which had long sat upon the crest of honour belonging to Redflower. Slowly the man turned to face Joseph.

And his hazel eyes stared into the teenagers own brown. "Jalafiel." Joseph spit the word as if it were venomous. His eyes stung with tears at the councilors apparent treachery.

Jalafiel smiled a wide grin, fully revealing two rows of dagger like pearls. "You want to know why I did it," he stated.

Slight was the orphaned teens nod. Even in the face of tragedy and great grief, curiosity prevailed.

Jalafiel stepped down the steps, and the pool of crimson gathered around his feet. The traitor stood only inches away from Joseph's face, and great was his temptation to lash out by spitting. Joseph's anger rose up, and he did just that: a white line of liquid streamed down Jalafiel's face. With a wave of the traitors hand, the two guards at Joseph's side knocked the teen to the ground. One lifted his fist, and slammed it into his face.

Stars invaded the teens vision, and he curled up in pain as the two men continued their assault by kicking and stomping. Jalafiel raised his hand to signal a stop, and the onslaught ended. Joseph spit blood onto the cold stone floor before being forced to his feet. "Damn you," he said. The second guard raised a gauntleted fist, which was met with the surprisingly taut grip of Jalafiel's palm. "Enough. He does not die, not yet.

"No, not yet. First, I must speak him the truth. I did it for power."

"You had power," replied Joseph, the pain in his head still great.

"No, I did not. I could not, would not, settle for second best. Your father's title of Baron... it is worth more than a thousand pounds of silver."

"He trusted you," Joseph struggled to speak. His left eye had swollen shut, and his lips as well.

Jalafiel glared at the captive teen. "He was weak, and deserved to die. He trusted too well, and failed to achieve greatness."

"My father," Joseph gasped. "Was not weak. In the eyes of the Lord, loyalty is a strength."

Jalafiel removed Joseph's dagger from the teens belt. "Such a pity," he said, as the blade pricked against his captive's face. "That even God can not help you now."

The blade cut Joseph's skin effortlessly, and the teen screamed in agony. It was a scream that spoke of anguish, of grief, of hopelessness. No pain could cause a man to scream such, and Jalafiel reveled in causing the pain. The knife cut from underneath Joseph's right earlobe, and ended just under the chin. It was a vicious cut, and blood dripped from the gruesome wound.

The pain continued to throb in Joseph's head, but he gathered strength enough to speak. "You won't get away with this."

Jalafiel brought the tip of the blade to Joseph's throat, prepared to slice through the soft skin. "My dear boy," he replied, "I already have." Joseph shut his eyes in preparation of death, and prayed silently.

But death did not come. A door slammed open, and caused alarm. Joseph opened his eyes, and felt the buzz of an arrow fly right next to him. Jalafiel screamed in pain, for the arrow had pierced his hand, causing him to drop the knife. The guards' surprise caused their grip to momentarily loosen, and Joseph took advantage of it. He dove, free of his captors vise, and retrieved the knife from the stone floor. He rose to his feet, and saw a man coming at him with a sword. Before his attacker could swing, however, an arrow found its way into the mans back, causing him to drop to his knees. As the man fell, Joseph saw clearly the sturdy from of his dear friend Jacob.

Jacob slew one man nearby, and ran up to Joseph. "We must run, now." The teen nodded, and placed his hand on his friends shoulder. "But not before we finish this."

They both turned to see Jalafiel waving his arms. Behind him emerged several men in armor, the new recruits hired the week before. They bore swords and axes, and ran to slay the two friends.

Jacob grabbed Joseph by the arm, and ran to one of the stained glass windows behind the throne. "Jump, and roll when you hit the earth. It will be painful, but my horse waits below. Ride to Hathingford. I'll hold them off. Hurry!"

Joseph did not move, and the attacking men were coming dangerously close. Jacob grabbed the youth by the collar, and pushed him forcefully through the ornate glass. Joseph yelled, and fell to the earth. It seemed as if time itself slowed, and Jacob was very afraid. He did as he was bid, and rolled when he hit the earth thirty feet below. The rolling motion did the trick, taking most of the force of the impact, but his ankle twisted and caused him great pain. Joseph looked up, and the form of Jacob strung his last arrow in his bow. Several swords pierced his skin at once, and a bloody mist sprayed from the window. Jacob cried out in agony, and his body fell from the window. He hit the earth, lifeless.

Joseph struggled to his feet, and hopped to the horse that was loosely tied to the tree nearby. His hands shook so much that he found it impossible to untie the bonds, so he cut the reins with his knife. With one last display of strength, he leapt atop the horse, and kicked. The horse neighed, and began to gallop away from the castle. Joseph felt his strength begin to fade as the horse continued down the trodden path to Hathingford, and soon he drifted out of consciousness. Images of blood and murder filled his mind as Joseph slumped on the horse, his senses far away from the world around him.

A young woman clad in the black robes of a nun walked slowly down the dirt road to Hathingford. She was taking a leisure stroll, at the permission of Deacon Father Birchtree. Father Birchtree understood the need for a young woman to enjoy the nature of the passing day. The sunset was a lovely sight, and it was along the road this young nun often wondered about her Order and God himself. She questioned things she was not supposed to, like how God came to be, or why people who don't know of God go to Hell. Her curiosity was technically forbidden, but Father Birchtree had the foresight to let her wonder and experiment.

And sometimes – just sometimes – she would go to the lump of sacks that lay around the Eastern wall of the town and, with the dirk she carried in secret, she would pretend the sacks to be great enemies. Barbarians, Franks, Scots - this fantasy she kept secret, but practiced with great satisfaction. Her reach and flexibility protected her from the fantasy warriors.

She looked down the road, and saw a young man slumped across his horse. The horse continued to gallop, and before her very eyes the unconscious rider fell off the horse. She gasped, and ran to help him. She knelt, and felt his heartbeat, which was strong and slow. He was covered in blood, and was obviously in dire need of medical attention.

She hoisted him, albeit with great difficulty, back onto his horse. She led the beast into town, where she would bring him before the Hospital of Father Birchtree.