"Would you look at that! Have you ever seen anything so marvelous in your life?"
The younger man looked over at his brother with indifference. "I can think of a few things."
A loud groan filled the air. "Must you ruin this moment?" the older one asked, frowning.
"I suppose it is somewhat pleasing to look at."
Both men shared a smile as they gathered their belongings and headed towards the exit ramp. The trip had been long and treacherous, and weeks on a boat was not ideal, but it was necessary when crossing the sea. Of course, both endured and survived their spell of seasickness, but it was long forgotten now. It didn't matter. They were finally here.
They waited patiently to get off the ship last, making sure all women and children were off first. With their suitcases and bags in hand, they finally stepped onto the dock and looked out onto the inviting land before them.
"What did I tell you, Bartholomew? Gorgeous, right?"
The man nodded. "The air smells much cleaner here as well. And there is a considerably larger amount of trees."
"Master Ince?" a voice spoke out behind them. Bartholomew and Ince looked back to see a young lad holding out a key to them. "This is for your room. It is located at the inn about half a mile down the road."
"Thank you," said Ince, clapping the boy on the back while he took the key. A small gold coin was dropped into the boy's expectant hands, eliciting a happy thanks from him before he took off. Turning back to face his companion, Ince asked, "Are you ready?"
Bartholomew nodded. "You found a place for us to stay already?"
"You give me too little credit, brother," he smiled. "I always have a plan."
"Of course you do," said Bartholomew with an eye roll. "Sir Ince of Sandwich always has a plan."
He frowned. "I am just Ince of Sandwich now. You know I do not like that other…affiliation. Why must you bring it up?"
"I am simply surprised you decided to leave it in the past, is all."
Ince shrugged, looking off into the distance. "Everything has a beginning and end. It was a good season for change. Besides, seeing the New World was something I had thought of doing for some time now. It was just impossible with the bloody crown chaining me down."
"Did you have to bring me along?"
"With me gone, who would have protected you?"
"I can fend for myself," Bartholomew mumbled, though he fought to keep a smile from creeping up on his face.
He had to admit, it was exciting, traveling the world with his brother. The idea had almost been a spur of the moment sort of thing, but it had worked out in the end. So it wasn't like he hated being here. He just couldn't make it too obvious to Ince.
And what his brother had said was true. Bartholomew's time in England would have been much worse when the King discovered one of his Royal Knights had deserted. They would hunt him down, not caring if they had to take family members in and torture them to discover his whereabouts. That's where the danger came in for Bartholomew, and it was really a no brainer to flee the country with his older brother. He was all he had.
The walk to the inn seemed much shorter than any other half mile Bartholomew had ever walked. It probably had to do with the fact that his legs were the last thing on his mind. Everywhere he looked, something new distracted him.
There were all kinds of artwork made by the indigenous people, varying from clothes to tableware. Clay pots and turquoise stone jewelry lined the outside of humble homes, along with fur coats and small game for dinner. The children occupied themselves with games on the floor, marking the dirt with long narrow sticks and laughing together.
When they finally arrived at the inn, Ince set his bags down next to the cot he had chosen and handed his brother the key.
"Across the street is a saloon. Go and get yourself a drink. I will not be long."
"Where are you going?"
"I have arranged to meet one of the locals. It should help us out a bit more if we knew where we could find jobs and a permanent place to stay."
Bartholomew made a face as his brother left the room and closed the door.
Jobs? What did he have in mind? Laboring? Like a commoner?
Back home, Ince's status as Knight had kept them relatively well off, and something like this was completely new.
Still, if it meant independence from that damn monarchy, then so be it. The entire idea of kings was repulsive to him.
…Unless it was him on the other end. One couldn't turn down a bowl of stew without trying it first, right?
King Bartholomew. Now there was an idea.
Shaking himself from the thought, he finished unpacking a few things before fishing out his coin purse and heading to the saloon. Nothing better than a shot of good whiskey to cure a parched throat.
At the bar, a few minutes turned into a few hours. Half a day later, Ince still hadn't shown up. The more Bartholomew waited, the more he was tempted to keep drinking. He wasn't much of a drunk, but the worry was starting to creep in. He hoped his brother was alright, away from any kind of danger.
He was a knight, for crying out loud! He could take care of himself, right? Of course he could! If he couldn't, then Bartholomew would have to go looking for him. And that simply couldn't happen. If it did, then who would take the pretty little doxy across the room home with him?
Tentatively, he approached her table, smiling as she batted her eyes at him for the tenth time.
"You new around here?" she asked him with a shy grin.
"Aye. Just got here today."
The woman looked him up and down once, the smile never leaving her face. "Straight from the Old Country. How...interesting."
He returned her smile, watching as she came closer to gently tug on the collar of his shirt.
"We can go find someplace a little more quiet to discuss your travels," she whispered with a seductive grin.
Taking him by the arm, she led him to one of the back rooms, helping him forget his worry for his brother.
Three hours and seven silver pieces later, Bartholomew was in his room at the inn preparing for bed when Ince walked in.
"Where have you been?" he demanded immediately.
His brother gave him a wide grin. "Out with the indians. You have no idea what it is like to spend a day with them! I was going to show up at the saloon earlier, I truly was, but I got caught up."
"What did you do out there?"
"Lots of things! We herded cattle, uprooted some vegetables, and even went fishing!"
Bartholomew made a face. "How fun."
Ince crossed his arms. "Just because I did not go run off with a harlot does not mean I did not have fun." He laughed when he saw Bartholomew's face. "You think I would be kept from something like that?"
"It was nothing."
"Oh, I bet."
Fortunately for Bartholomew, his older brother decided to drop the conversation. Changing clothes to his evening attire, Ince jumped into the empty cot, blowing out the candle on the dresser and laying flat on his back. He looked up straight towards the ceiling and smiled.
"You should come with me tomorrow."
"To the fields?"
"It is not so bad," insisted Ince. "The indians know a great deal. And they are more open to friends than they are with strangers."
"You are still a stranger," Bartholomew pointed out.
"But not as much anymore. I think they like me."
"Alright. If you are their friend, as you claim, what kind of things have they confided in you with after just one day?"
"Well, not much," Ince admitted, frowning as he searched his brain for anything interesting.
"Let me guess, they spilled the highly guarded secrets of when to harvest the best vegetables."
"Well, that is not much of a secret, but-"
"Did they tell you about how to use the bones of animals for black magic?"
"No, that is actually quite disgusting and-"
"Or did they tell you about the wild, mysterious dangers of the west?"
Ince's eyes lit up at that. "No, but there is a story about the wild and mysterious! A legend of sorts. They mentioned it briefly."
"What legend?"
Ince propped himself on his elbow and looked over at his brother's cot. "They say that some time back, a group of them went down below to live as a separate colony."
"Down below?"
"Underground," he nodded excitedly.
"And you believed them? Do not be ridiculous, Ince. No one can survive down there. It is a place with no food, I doubt the water is clean, and the lack of sun would surely kill someone."
Ince frowned. "I suppose you are right," he said, laying back down. "But suppose it is true?"
Bartholomew sighed, shifting in his bed to get more comfortable. "Then we will find out tomorrow when we speak with them in the fields."
Over the next few weeks, the brothers made it their unspoken duty to find out more about this underground land, which strangely, seemed more and more real with each story.
It was on one particular evening while they were on their way back to the inn from the fields that they encountered an older indian native. The man was fairly friendly, not much of a talker but very respectful. He nodded quite a bit and liked to hum in response to yes or no questions. The pitch varied when he confirmed things from when he denied them.
He lived not far from where Ince and Bartholomew were staying, so they struck up a conversation on the way home. After some quick chat, they discovered that he actually knew how to get down to the underground settlement. Apparently, he had been part of the initial movement that sought refuge underground, though he returned to the surface after a short while.
Careful not to reveal too much excitement, the brothers asked a few discreet questions before thanking him and retiring to their room.
As soon as they were inside with the door shut behind, Ince reached for his brother's hand and turned him around. "He is a guide, Bart! A guide that can take us there so that we can see this place for ourselves! We may have to offer him something in return, but that will not be much of a problem."
"Ince, he said it has been years since he was last there. And by the way he said it, I do not think that is within the last decade. Something like that is long gone by now. Surely they have not survived-"
"But what if they have?"
Bartholomew frowned. "What good would it do us to go down there in the first place?"
"It would definitely be better than this! It has been almost a month, and the money we earn is barely enough to pay this room! We are fortunate the meals are included. Maybe that could all change with this."
He chewed the inside of his cheek nervously. "I am not so sure."
"Will you at least think about it?"
"Fine, brother," he sighed. "For you, I will think about it."
"You are much too stubborn sometimes."
"Yes, well, I suppose it runs in the family."
A few days later, before Bartholomew could give an answer, there was a problem with one of the indians. One of the aristocrats had accused him of stealing, causing a huge brawl on the street. Sides were taken almost immediately, and the tension that arose was fragile. Any little thing would cause arguments between the indigenous and the settlers. It was a tension that only got worse with time. Battles resulting in deaths had already begun elsewhere. It was only a matter of time before things escalated into the next step, and everyone knew it.
Bartholomew, for the most part, got the hang of his new lifestyle, finding small things to keep him busy and interested in the colonies. Blacksmithing was one of the doctrines he took up, and it went surprisingly well. His brother found a job constructing houses, and soon enough, they had plenty of time and money to start building one of their own.
One day, while working about halfway through the construction of their home, they heard a commotion on the streets. People were shouting out loud and cursing madly, holding letters made of heavy paper with a wax seal on the back.
Letters from the king.
When Bartholomew received his and read what was on it, he joined the cries of protest as well.
It was a newsletter from the crown, informing them of new taxes that would be collected from that point on. The extra money would be used to fund a war. The dreaded step into formal battle had been taken. Apparently, the French that had settled further north had joined forces with the indians of that area to push the English settlers back down south.
"This is outrageous!" cried Ince, crushing the letter in his hands. "How dare he do this? We came all the way here to avoid getting caught up in all of his idiotic glory!"
Bartholomew looked at Ince with concern. "King William calls war on these people, brother. War. We are lucky he only wants more coins and not more soldiers. We would have no choice."
Ince turned to him with a look of rage, barely able to contain his hands from shaking. "No, brother," he said through gritted teeth. "Of course we have a choice. We will not join his army. If it ever gets to that point, we will flee. I refuse to serve his royal highness any longer. Pitiful excuse of a monarch. Honestly."
Bartholomew nodded. "Only time will tell if it gets that far. I doubt it will happen so."
"Let us pray, Bart. And damned be the hour if it ever sees the light of day."