Alfred kept churning these thoughts in his mind until he fell asleep and slumped over the desk. He was roused up by the morning sunlight streaking into the room from the large French windows, he stood up and stretched. When he opened the door of the room, he was surprised to see Michael, still in his Monk’s garb, slouching in a chair next to the door. He woke him up and wondered, “Why Michael? Why didn’t you sleep in the comfortable bed?”

            “You said it was dangerous,” Michael answered, still half asleep. “I had to stay close to protect you.”

            “Oh, Michael…you are an amazing man. All right, get ready for breakfast now. Go freshen up while I prepare the food.” Al said gently.

After they ate, Al dressed up and got ready to leave. Then he gave Michael strict instructions, “Please, please Michael…you must do exactly as I tell you. If you disobey in the slightest way, you are going to put your life…er…,” Al spoke slowly and emphatically, “well you don’t care too much about that…um, no; you are going to put my life in great danger. Do you understand?”

            “Sure. What do you want me to do?” asked the young man eagerly.

            “I want you to stay here…inside the house. Do not try to come near any window and do not get out under any circumstances until I come back.” Al was speaking and stressing every syllable. “Don’t try to protect me. Don’t try to warn me. Don’t try to do any thing that may betray your presence here. Please my son…OK?” As Michael nodded, Al began to walk to the door, and then stopped. He turned around and looked at the disfigured face of the young man. He was so worried to leave him alone, knowing that the ruffians might try to break into the house again. But he knew that he had no choice. He couldn’t risk taking him outside in broad day light. Considering what’s happening in St. Anthony’s Parish, he wouldn’t even risk taking him out dressed up as a monk. They had to wait till night fall. By that time they should have devised a plan as to where they should go. Finally with a heart tormented with these trepidations, he walked out.

Alfred arrived at Sam’s office before the magistrate showed up. When Sam finally arrived, Al insisted to talk to him before he would start any other business. When Sam heard all the details, he was so shaken. He went on pacing the room in obvious distress. He finally started to speak as if to himself, “We have…out of the country…Gilbert too…what do they….” He turned to Al at last and said, “Were you able to figure out where we can hide your…friend?”

            “No. I thought about the Grasso Orchard, but …it is going to be very stressful for him and for the people there. Besides, Jacquard’s goons are already watching it too.”

            “Of course you realize, once they catch him, we are all finished,” Sam said in a matter of fact manner, “They will kill him. In the past he was useful to keep the Miller villagers under control, and they knew he posed no real harm. But now…well now everything is different.” He went to his desk and sat behind it as if to hide, “and when they get rid of him, we shall have no case. They can just do with us whatever they please”

            “You see Sam,” Alfred wondered, “what bothers me the most, is that they can still do with us as they please even now. What is stopping them from killing us now?”

            Sam shrank back in his seat, “I don’t like that train of thought.” Sam moaned, “I certainly hope it is something quite powerful in our favor.”

            “I believe it is the power of the Divine.” Alfred said, “Only by some miracle… they are worried about something, or afraid of someone that we know nothing about___”

            “Stop…will you stop your religious ranting.” Sam interrupted, “Most probably it has to do with the war. I cannot ______”

They heard a hurried nock on the door, and the impatient intruder couldn’t wait for permission, so he pushed the door open and hurried in.

            “How dare you?” Sam roared at his secretary.

            “Sorry Sir, but Prince Gilbert is on his way up here.” The scared man stammered.           

            “Prince Gilbert?” A shocked Sam asked as he sprang to his feet and waved the secretary out. “What in the world is he coming here now for?”

            “I shall wait outside in your terrace.” Al said and hurried out of the room.

A few minutes later, the graceful prince hurried into the office and before anybody else could enter, he closed the door smiling keeping the throng of employees and entourage outside. “Hello Sam.” He greeted the shaking Magistrate.

            “Hello your highness,” Sam spoke slowly struggling to hide his anxiety.

            “Please sit down.” Gilbert said and took a seat across from his host, “I am sure you are wondering about this unusual breach of protocol. But it seems this has become a sign of the times.” He reached into his vest pocket and produced a little scroll, which he pushed over to the magistrate, “read this letter and tell me what you think.”

            Sam tried to keep his hand steady as he took the letter, unfolded it and began reading [Your Highness Prince Gilbert…I would like to have the honor of celebrating this coming Sunday mass with you at the St. Anthony Parish. There is a very important matter which I need to discuss with you privately…Signed. Father Gabriel]

            Sam put the letter down and looked curiously at the man sitting calmly across from him. “Your highness, I don’t understand.” He spoke cautiously, “this seems to be a private matter between you and Father Gabriel who wants to celebrate Mass with you on Sunday at the St. Anthony Parish.”

            Prince Gilbert stood up quietly and went around the room looking at the different tableaus of fine art hanging on the walls. He was an athletic man with a military spring to his step. He had a handsome face beaming with confidence. He finally returned to his seat with his eyes staring at a shadow existing only inside his head.

            “My dear Magistrate…I am afraid your conclusion is wrong.” He said calmly.

Sam remained silent.

Gilbert spoke through the magistrate and not to him, “Father Gabriel is my father of confession.” He saw Sam’s eyes go wide with surprise, so he smiled and continued, “Not too many people know such things. Well, anyway, I exchange letters with father Gabriel from time to time regarding the needs of the parish. You know what that means… It means that I know his handwriting very well…and more specifically his signature.” The prince finally concluded in a serious tone, “and I can tell you with a fair degree of certainty…this …is not Fr. Gabriel’s writing.” He sat back and stretched his long legs.

“Well, may be he has asked one of the other monks to write it for him” suggested Sam. “He may …be sick?”

“The thought crossed my mind. But…is he so sick that he couldn’t even sign the letter,” Queried the Prince, “I doubt that. We have a clear understanding that he would never let anybody else write directly to me. In addition to this, even if he dictated the letter to another writer, Father Gabriel never started his notes to me ‘your highness prince Gilbert’…he always wrote ‘my prince’…” he stopped for a moment, and then resumed his analysis, “Besides, the messenger who delivered that letter knew exactly where to find me…I was at the south border inspecting the troops. Again, very few people know my exact whereabouts…Fr. Gabriel was not one of them. One more thing is a little striking…Fr. Gabriel never asked me to celebrate Mass with him. It was a foregone conclusion that anytime I go visit the parish, I would attend Mass, have communion and then spend time with the monks and the parish people…why would he specifically ask me to attend Mass this time… if… he were dictating it to another monk?”

“And if he is so sick that he cannot even write the letter, how can he ask you to celebrate Mass with him?” Sam Wondered in a loud voice without looking at the Prince.  

“Exactly…” responded Gilbert.

“But your highness…what are you suggesting? That there is some foul play?” asked the magistrate.

“I don’t know for sure. What is certain is that this is not Fr. Gabriel. Somebody else who fell upon some information about our relationship… well… is using Fr. Gabriel’s name to get me to go to the parish this coming Sunday,” Concluded the Prince with a smile.

 “Ok, that is simple. We can send some officers to the parish right away to investigate the matter,” Suggested Sam.

“No. whoever it may be, once they see soldiers, they shall flee. Or worse, may be they do some harm to the parish monks.” Answered the prince pensively, “I…shall go. No. no don’t object. I shall go, but I want you to have the parish surrounded by your officers just in case. After all, it might be all a storm in a tea pot. I shall go with a couple of my friends…this should not raise any suspicion”

“Well then, may be we can have a couple of officers pose as ____” started Sam.

“My friends are also military officers.” Cut in the Prince.

“Your highness, please…allow me…don’t go. Send someone else to investigate. Don’t risk _____” Sam tried to speak his mind, as he knew what was waiting for the man at the parish. But he didn’t know how to bring it up without going through a lengthy explanation of how he got the information.

 The prince did not interrupt. He was deep in thought. Then he noticed Sam’s bewilderment. So he asked, “You want to say something?”

Sam stuttered for a moment, and then he managed to spit out the words, “This is a time of war, your highness, anything can happen,” he continued more slowly, “and …and you are the commander of the troops. Um…I mean…we shouldn’t risk having you embroiled in any kind of dispute which may distract you from __”  

“Dispute…?” Asked the prince a bit surprised…

“This whole affair…I mean, who knows what’s out there?” Sam tried to recover.

“I just want to make sure that Fr. Anthony is OK.” Said Gilbert, “May be he has something to tell me about the war which made him completely disturbed and write in this weird manner”

Sam then tried to muster all his wits and asked cautiously, “Did you discuss this with Prince Williams?”

A fleeting sarcastic smile passed through Gilbert’s face as he answered,  “Williams is having fun with his friend Bart Jacquard and a whole gang of cohorts at the Jacquards’ vineyard in the north” Suddenly Gilbert’s eyes twinkled brightly as one who had an epiphany, “Why wait till Sunday? I should go today.”

“What…?” yelled Sam instinctively   

            Gilbert was surprised at the strong reaction. He asked, “Why not?”

Sam was caught off guard. He struggled to find an answer, “Your highness… I … I mean…um…we need… yes we need to prepare… today is Thursday. So we need to plan what we shall do and get the soldiers ready and….”

            “You are blabbering,” Gilbert observed, “I think it makes perfect sense. If father Anthony is really sick, it is better to see him as soon as possible. If there is some foul play, it is better to confront it while the schemer is not prepared”

            “Yes… Yes your highness…Um…well” agreed the magistrate reluctantly.

            Gilbert got up, and walked towards the door saying, “prepare your officers and let them follow at a distance. There are two approaches to enter the parish grounds… one over the bridge and the other through the swamp. I shall go over the bridge naturally as it is the normal route. Divide your men into two groups; one group will stay by the far end of the bridge and the other should circle around the swamp. We should arrive there before sundown. OK?” As a man used to give orders, he didn’t wait to hear an answer.

A distraught Sam fell into his chair sweating profusely. Then he remembered Alfred. He jumped to his feet and rushed to the terrace. Alfred was gone.

continued next week