WHERE PONCE DE LEON FAILED
Chapter One: Falling Glory
***
Smith peered through the crowded court that lined the red carpet, shoved to the back due to social status. On excellent terms with His Majesty these days he was welcome in court, unfortunately he had to fend for himself against the aristocrats - who would metaphorically eat their own children. Dressed in his best, the captain wouldn't have missed this occasion for all the adventures of Sinbad.
Smith had set back his latest voyage (to chase the wind and land spontaneously to face whatever fate presented) in order to attend the homecoming of his former Jamestown nemesis, Governor Ratcliffe. The aging and greedy governor was returning from a very long trek to the unknown tropics of the Southern Americas. After weaseling out of two trials for very serious offenses, the well-to-do had finally had enough of his pathetic attempts to social climb. The miscreant was forced into leading a voyage to a newly discovered rain forest, when all knew he hadn't been able to handle Virginia. At best, they'd never hear from him again… at worse, he'd return in a few decades.
Normally, Smith would care nothing for Ratcliffe or the petty affairs of the King's court, however… this was different. Entirely different. Ratcliffe was returning, having sent word ahead and acquiring permission. Why would the royals agree to his return? What could the arrogant ass possibly have said to make himself bearable? The answer had the streets filled with inquisitive English, eager for information. The Governor had made an impossible claim. A claim that had sparked the curiosity of all England. Every noble was present, waiting with baited breath. Ratcliffe alleged an unbelievable discovery. A discovery that if proven true would change the world forever!
John Ratcliffe claimed to have discovered the fountain of youth.
***
King James I of England and VI of Scotland sat silently upon his throne, wrapping his fingers with impatience. It was obvious the Governor was lying through his discolored teeth, dying to get home. Many had searched the New Worlds for the legendary "fountain of youth" but all had failed. It was a myth - the last hope of desperate dreamers. Not a soul in the room believed the claim, though they all secretly prayed it was true. Unfortunately, the wild story would seem doubtful from a reliable source… and John Ratcliffe was anything but reality. The lying, untrustworthy, self-serving villain was the last person one could trust the accounts of. James thoughts trailed away into a blur of negative emotions. It was ridiculous. Ratcliffe could not be believed. A fellow of his caliber lied about the weather.
Nonetheless, he eyed the door uneasily. Within his heart of hearts he hoped the myths were true… but had long left those fantasies behind with boyhood. He continued to tap his fingers subconsciously. He was often impatient - as the supreme ruler of two nations he was forced to deal with all sorts of annoying and unpleasant things - but today was quite different. Today his impatience was more like anxiety. The waiting was gradually building to nausea. He continued to wrap his jeweled fingers, watching the door… waiting for the fanfare…
Not one to be defeated by emotion, James turned to his aide, having a notion to request for Shakespeare after his awful audience with the Governor had come to a close. He would need cheer after that affair. A comedy would do nicely. However, though he parted his lips, not a sound left them - for the trumpets sounded.
The golden doors opened regally and a procession started down the royal red carpet towards the expecting throne. No announcement was made and his Highness was confused - no Ratcliffe in sight. Every soul in the room had been holding their breath… and now… some stranger was in their midst. Disappointed murmurs came from every angle and James shifted uncomfortably in his throne. Something was wrong. His unease tightened and he subconsciously wondered if it would suffocate him.
***
The confused and disappointed crowd's reaction got the better of confused Smith and he shoved to the front to learn what was happening. There, he saw the source of the crowd's displeasure. It wasn't the Governor at all. A ragtag team from God knows where was proceeding down the rug towards James, lead by a stranger.
"Ratcliffe's dead." The whispers rose. The weak Governor had nearly been lost on the treacherous trek down to what was later known as South America. The jungles had ruined what little health the fool had. Perhaps the nobles plan to kill the man had actually worked. Perhaps… he hadn't survived the returning voyage. The letter had been sent from their settlement in the rain forest after all. The Governor was dead!
John returned his focus to the stranger among them. Though his crew looked shabby, he had royal escorts and had arranged for a royal procession. He dressed and carried himself as though he were nobility. However, not a soul in the room had laid eyes upon him before. He was a peculiar character - attractive though. He had short, black hair and dark brown eyes. He was somewhat pale - but not sickly. Smith noted he was the best dressed person in the room aside from King James himself.
"Such strange garments…" the uneasy, confused whispers continued.
"Is he a royal of their land?" an older man asked Smith.
The foreign stranger certainly seemed different. Never before had anyone of his caliber crossed their paths. He passed these gawking spectators as though he was superior. He didn't make eye contact or even acknowledge their existence. He instead focused on his Majesty, smiling the most charming smile to every grace the royal court. However, as he passed John Smith… he turned and smirked. John blinked, surprised. Had he imagined it? Mistook it? If the smirk had happened… was there any recognition in it?
More unnerving then the man's expression… had been his face!
He was a boy.
***
His Highness' initial emotion was relief. His thoughts black and white. False alarm. Not Ratcliffe. The fool must not have survived. He had relaxed for an instant. However, now… he was second guessing everything. Why had their been no announcement? Who was this unexpected noble? Was his foreign royalty? Why was he so young?
The darkly attractive youth had never appeared in his court before, yet he was well aware of protocol. He stopped at just the point he ought and bowed respectful, removing his plumped hat. His hair was styled with a shiny, wet look none present had ever seen before. The youth possessed a chilling air and an expression of malicious joy…
James realized this was worse than a dozen Ratcliffes…
He glanced to the back and realized the royal fanfare was just as perplexed as the rest. Every aspect of the situation unnerved the court. He was unexpected. He had failed to identify himself. He had outrageous hair and clothing. He was clearly of nobility, but a stranger to them all. His expressions… his attitude… his youth…
James exchanged a look with his historian, who seemed the only one among them to be perfectly at ease. His knowing eyes were so readable that the monarch followed his thoughts. He recalled all the stories he'd learned about the ancient Empires. He almost smiled as he recalled Pharaohs and Emperors who had been children. This was yet another very foreign and probably very ancient world. Young nobility was probably common place among them. However, this was no child… and upon closer inspection… James realized he wasn't exactly a boy either. He was probably about 18. The Historians eyes secretly smiled as though they said, 'Octavian was only 18.'
Before James could consent the boy spoke and shocked everyone…
Firstly, before they even comprehended his words, they were surprised by his accent. British! How was this possibly? Who was he? Was he one of their own? Why was he dressed as though he was of another culture?
His words hit home. Utter shock. Dead silence.
The boy had said, "Greetings your majesty! I have returned."
***
The young man stood before the throne, smiling with sadistic pleasure. The seed had been sown and suddenly the crowd exploded into whispering chaos. All around him they murmured with scattered confusion. He watched silently, trying to contain his joy. The look of surprise on James' face alone was priceless. He wished he could see Smith. He supposed there would be plenty of time for basking in their admiration later. How absolutely delicious this was turning out to be! Just as planned!
James continued to stare at him for a few moments, clearly surprised. He slowly held his hand to silence the spectators. As the whispers died… the sovereigns expression and air changed entirely. It was impossible for the boy to place his ruler's tone… but it wasn't at all sincere. It seemed almost… almost…
"And you are, dear boy?" It sounded so polite, so unsuspecting.
*He knows.* the stranger realized. *He knows everything.*
The youth summoned all the confidence he could muster and replied, as he'd recited a thousand times, "Why, your grace, it is I, your loyal Governor Ratcliffe."
Terrified silence.
However, as the nobles were frightened… so was the boy. King James' expression startled him. The monarch didn't look surprised at all. In fact, it was as though he'd been expecting this shocking revelation. The silence loomed for an unnaturally long time, all waiting to see their King's response.
The monarch smiled warmly, "Ah, John. I see you've returned home safely at last. Obviously your claim to finding waters of eternal youth was true. Remarkable."
John? The boy swallowed hard. This was all wrong. Unexpected. James wasn't ruffled, in fact, there wasn't a hint of surprise from the man at all. His tone wasn't doubtful… it was almost warm and accepting. John? Too friendly, unnatural. By rights the ruler should have been skeptical… or at least excited… or something…
He continued, as prepared. "Yes, your majesty. I have succeeded where Ponce de Lione failed. I have discovered the legendary fountain of youth and claimed her for our beloved England!"
Now the aristocrats murmured. Did they believe?
"Remarkable." James repeated. "Simply remarkable."
The attractive adolescent learned too late, *He's mocking me.*
James, toying slowly, added, "However… I knew John Ratcliffe in his youth… and you, my boy, look nothing like him. Nothing." As the king waited for a response, his expression darkened.
Everything had gone by the wayside. The young man could see himself hanging and realized he hadn't a shred of evidence or a prayer to bless himself with. The young leader glanced around the room as many unintelligible agreements were made. His pulse raced and sweat started down his neck. He'd been so foolish. SO foolish. How could he have…
"Even if I had not known Ratcliffe when he was your age, boy, common sense dictates a perfect nose does not grow large and hooked with age. It is physically impossible for a child of your beauty to ever let himself go enough to mutate into the likes of that… crook."
Silence. The well dressed visitor had no response.
James continued, on a roll, "The majority of those present were acquainted with John Ratcliffe in his youth and I assure you, all will testify he was as ugly then as he is now. Fountain of youth, indeed! Of all your employer's schemes this is the most pathetic, the most ridiculous!"
The royal calmed and motioned for the boy to approach. Removing his lovely hat again the handsome fellow stepped forward, kneeling within range. James leaned forward and in a soft, intimidating voice asked, "Did you really think you could get away with it?" When the youth didn't answer he added, "Do you take me for a fool?"
"No, sire." the boy found his voice. "Never."
"Child, you have three seconds to save yourself. Confess your part in this conspiracy and the whereabouts of your employer and I shall be far more merciful."
"But, sire…"
"One."
"But, I AM Ratcliffe-"
"Two."
The accused changed tactics, "I don't know where he is! I-"
"Three."
James snapped his fingers and instantly the youth was snatched by guards. He struggled viciously, desperately begging and wildly screeching. He kicked and screamed… losing all dignity… until he was eventually dragged out after his captured crew. "Sire, let me explain! Please, I swear to you, I… I… just let me explain!"
The last thing the boy saw as the golden doors slammed was the handsome Captain's expression. It was Smith's turn to smirk.
***
*…this is my last chance for glory…*
Ratcliffe tossed and turned in a near delirious sleep. As usual, his dreams were bad. So bad in fact, that they weren't dreams at all - they were nightmares. He could scarcely recall a time when his childhood had been filled with innocent dreams of beautiful music and carefree laughter. His heart was cold to such things now. Frozen. Such warm, positive concepts seemed impossibly far away. Fragile and fading… falling…
Falling… the gun… someone please… falling… help… gun… No, pl- NO!
*BANG!*
He slammed awake, feeling as though he'd just crashed into his mattress after falling in a long, downward spiral of darkness. The world spun and for a moment he thought himself drowning. However, he soon realized he was soaked with sweat. He lay, startled and panting… heart racing rapidly…
The world continued to whirl… He lay, staring into the dizzy darkness… waiting for it all to stop. The whirling would soon cease. It always did. His doctor had called these strange wakes "night terrors" and claimed they were physiological and entirely different from dreams. A sleeping disorder of the nervous system. Crazed notions. The governor hadn't been at all surprised when the man had been burned alive for witchcraft.
When all was still and his system had calmed… he sat up. As he rubbed his eyes, he thoughtlessly mumbled, "I've never been a popular man…"
A new panic shocked through him and he struggled to his feet, his heart weak and his health poor, as it had been for decades. Blindly, he stumbled about in a frenzied, frightened state… He couldn't comprehend the darkness… couldn't comprehend where he was. Delirious, dizzy and disoriented the Governor grasped cold metal and muttered to himself, half crazed.
Then he stood silently, breathing heavy. He stared into the unknown dark… remembering very little. Slowly, with much effort, memories penetrated and he realized why he was holding ice cold bars. Grasping the iron, memories flooded back and he felt physically ill. James… Smith… impostor… court…
He was going to hang.
Chapter One: Falling Glory
***
Smith peered through the crowded court that lined the red carpet, shoved to the back due to social status. On excellent terms with His Majesty these days he was welcome in court, unfortunately he had to fend for himself against the aristocrats - who would metaphorically eat their own children. Dressed in his best, the captain wouldn't have missed this occasion for all the adventures of Sinbad.
Smith had set back his latest voyage (to chase the wind and land spontaneously to face whatever fate presented) in order to attend the homecoming of his former Jamestown nemesis, Governor Ratcliffe. The aging and greedy governor was returning from a very long trek to the unknown tropics of the Southern Americas. After weaseling out of two trials for very serious offenses, the well-to-do had finally had enough of his pathetic attempts to social climb. The miscreant was forced into leading a voyage to a newly discovered rain forest, when all knew he hadn't been able to handle Virginia. At best, they'd never hear from him again… at worse, he'd return in a few decades.
Normally, Smith would care nothing for Ratcliffe or the petty affairs of the King's court, however… this was different. Entirely different. Ratcliffe was returning, having sent word ahead and acquiring permission. Why would the royals agree to his return? What could the arrogant ass possibly have said to make himself bearable? The answer had the streets filled with inquisitive English, eager for information. The Governor had made an impossible claim. A claim that had sparked the curiosity of all England. Every noble was present, waiting with baited breath. Ratcliffe alleged an unbelievable discovery. A discovery that if proven true would change the world forever!
John Ratcliffe claimed to have discovered the fountain of youth.
***
King James I of England and VI of Scotland sat silently upon his throne, wrapping his fingers with impatience. It was obvious the Governor was lying through his discolored teeth, dying to get home. Many had searched the New Worlds for the legendary "fountain of youth" but all had failed. It was a myth - the last hope of desperate dreamers. Not a soul in the room believed the claim, though they all secretly prayed it was true. Unfortunately, the wild story would seem doubtful from a reliable source… and John Ratcliffe was anything but reality. The lying, untrustworthy, self-serving villain was the last person one could trust the accounts of. James thoughts trailed away into a blur of negative emotions. It was ridiculous. Ratcliffe could not be believed. A fellow of his caliber lied about the weather.
Nonetheless, he eyed the door uneasily. Within his heart of hearts he hoped the myths were true… but had long left those fantasies behind with boyhood. He continued to tap his fingers subconsciously. He was often impatient - as the supreme ruler of two nations he was forced to deal with all sorts of annoying and unpleasant things - but today was quite different. Today his impatience was more like anxiety. The waiting was gradually building to nausea. He continued to wrap his jeweled fingers, watching the door… waiting for the fanfare…
Not one to be defeated by emotion, James turned to his aide, having a notion to request for Shakespeare after his awful audience with the Governor had come to a close. He would need cheer after that affair. A comedy would do nicely. However, though he parted his lips, not a sound left them - for the trumpets sounded.
The golden doors opened regally and a procession started down the royal red carpet towards the expecting throne. No announcement was made and his Highness was confused - no Ratcliffe in sight. Every soul in the room had been holding their breath… and now… some stranger was in their midst. Disappointed murmurs came from every angle and James shifted uncomfortably in his throne. Something was wrong. His unease tightened and he subconsciously wondered if it would suffocate him.
***
The confused and disappointed crowd's reaction got the better of confused Smith and he shoved to the front to learn what was happening. There, he saw the source of the crowd's displeasure. It wasn't the Governor at all. A ragtag team from God knows where was proceeding down the rug towards James, lead by a stranger.
"Ratcliffe's dead." The whispers rose. The weak Governor had nearly been lost on the treacherous trek down to what was later known as South America. The jungles had ruined what little health the fool had. Perhaps the nobles plan to kill the man had actually worked. Perhaps… he hadn't survived the returning voyage. The letter had been sent from their settlement in the rain forest after all. The Governor was dead!
John returned his focus to the stranger among them. Though his crew looked shabby, he had royal escorts and had arranged for a royal procession. He dressed and carried himself as though he were nobility. However, not a soul in the room had laid eyes upon him before. He was a peculiar character - attractive though. He had short, black hair and dark brown eyes. He was somewhat pale - but not sickly. Smith noted he was the best dressed person in the room aside from King James himself.
"Such strange garments…" the uneasy, confused whispers continued.
"Is he a royal of their land?" an older man asked Smith.
The foreign stranger certainly seemed different. Never before had anyone of his caliber crossed their paths. He passed these gawking spectators as though he was superior. He didn't make eye contact or even acknowledge their existence. He instead focused on his Majesty, smiling the most charming smile to every grace the royal court. However, as he passed John Smith… he turned and smirked. John blinked, surprised. Had he imagined it? Mistook it? If the smirk had happened… was there any recognition in it?
More unnerving then the man's expression… had been his face!
He was a boy.
***
His Highness' initial emotion was relief. His thoughts black and white. False alarm. Not Ratcliffe. The fool must not have survived. He had relaxed for an instant. However, now… he was second guessing everything. Why had their been no announcement? Who was this unexpected noble? Was his foreign royalty? Why was he so young?
The darkly attractive youth had never appeared in his court before, yet he was well aware of protocol. He stopped at just the point he ought and bowed respectful, removing his plumped hat. His hair was styled with a shiny, wet look none present had ever seen before. The youth possessed a chilling air and an expression of malicious joy…
James realized this was worse than a dozen Ratcliffes…
He glanced to the back and realized the royal fanfare was just as perplexed as the rest. Every aspect of the situation unnerved the court. He was unexpected. He had failed to identify himself. He had outrageous hair and clothing. He was clearly of nobility, but a stranger to them all. His expressions… his attitude… his youth…
James exchanged a look with his historian, who seemed the only one among them to be perfectly at ease. His knowing eyes were so readable that the monarch followed his thoughts. He recalled all the stories he'd learned about the ancient Empires. He almost smiled as he recalled Pharaohs and Emperors who had been children. This was yet another very foreign and probably very ancient world. Young nobility was probably common place among them. However, this was no child… and upon closer inspection… James realized he wasn't exactly a boy either. He was probably about 18. The Historians eyes secretly smiled as though they said, 'Octavian was only 18.'
Before James could consent the boy spoke and shocked everyone…
Firstly, before they even comprehended his words, they were surprised by his accent. British! How was this possibly? Who was he? Was he one of their own? Why was he dressed as though he was of another culture?
His words hit home. Utter shock. Dead silence.
The boy had said, "Greetings your majesty! I have returned."
***
The young man stood before the throne, smiling with sadistic pleasure. The seed had been sown and suddenly the crowd exploded into whispering chaos. All around him they murmured with scattered confusion. He watched silently, trying to contain his joy. The look of surprise on James' face alone was priceless. He wished he could see Smith. He supposed there would be plenty of time for basking in their admiration later. How absolutely delicious this was turning out to be! Just as planned!
James continued to stare at him for a few moments, clearly surprised. He slowly held his hand to silence the spectators. As the whispers died… the sovereigns expression and air changed entirely. It was impossible for the boy to place his ruler's tone… but it wasn't at all sincere. It seemed almost… almost…
"And you are, dear boy?" It sounded so polite, so unsuspecting.
*He knows.* the stranger realized. *He knows everything.*
The youth summoned all the confidence he could muster and replied, as he'd recited a thousand times, "Why, your grace, it is I, your loyal Governor Ratcliffe."
Terrified silence.
However, as the nobles were frightened… so was the boy. King James' expression startled him. The monarch didn't look surprised at all. In fact, it was as though he'd been expecting this shocking revelation. The silence loomed for an unnaturally long time, all waiting to see their King's response.
The monarch smiled warmly, "Ah, John. I see you've returned home safely at last. Obviously your claim to finding waters of eternal youth was true. Remarkable."
John? The boy swallowed hard. This was all wrong. Unexpected. James wasn't ruffled, in fact, there wasn't a hint of surprise from the man at all. His tone wasn't doubtful… it was almost warm and accepting. John? Too friendly, unnatural. By rights the ruler should have been skeptical… or at least excited… or something…
He continued, as prepared. "Yes, your majesty. I have succeeded where Ponce de Lione failed. I have discovered the legendary fountain of youth and claimed her for our beloved England!"
Now the aristocrats murmured. Did they believe?
"Remarkable." James repeated. "Simply remarkable."
The attractive adolescent learned too late, *He's mocking me.*
James, toying slowly, added, "However… I knew John Ratcliffe in his youth… and you, my boy, look nothing like him. Nothing." As the king waited for a response, his expression darkened.
Everything had gone by the wayside. The young man could see himself hanging and realized he hadn't a shred of evidence or a prayer to bless himself with. The young leader glanced around the room as many unintelligible agreements were made. His pulse raced and sweat started down his neck. He'd been so foolish. SO foolish. How could he have…
"Even if I had not known Ratcliffe when he was your age, boy, common sense dictates a perfect nose does not grow large and hooked with age. It is physically impossible for a child of your beauty to ever let himself go enough to mutate into the likes of that… crook."
Silence. The well dressed visitor had no response.
James continued, on a roll, "The majority of those present were acquainted with John Ratcliffe in his youth and I assure you, all will testify he was as ugly then as he is now. Fountain of youth, indeed! Of all your employer's schemes this is the most pathetic, the most ridiculous!"
The royal calmed and motioned for the boy to approach. Removing his lovely hat again the handsome fellow stepped forward, kneeling within range. James leaned forward and in a soft, intimidating voice asked, "Did you really think you could get away with it?" When the youth didn't answer he added, "Do you take me for a fool?"
"No, sire." the boy found his voice. "Never."
"Child, you have three seconds to save yourself. Confess your part in this conspiracy and the whereabouts of your employer and I shall be far more merciful."
"But, sire…"
"One."
"But, I AM Ratcliffe-"
"Two."
The accused changed tactics, "I don't know where he is! I-"
"Three."
James snapped his fingers and instantly the youth was snatched by guards. He struggled viciously, desperately begging and wildly screeching. He kicked and screamed… losing all dignity… until he was eventually dragged out after his captured crew. "Sire, let me explain! Please, I swear to you, I… I… just let me explain!"
The last thing the boy saw as the golden doors slammed was the handsome Captain's expression. It was Smith's turn to smirk.
***
*…this is my last chance for glory…*
Ratcliffe tossed and turned in a near delirious sleep. As usual, his dreams were bad. So bad in fact, that they weren't dreams at all - they were nightmares. He could scarcely recall a time when his childhood had been filled with innocent dreams of beautiful music and carefree laughter. His heart was cold to such things now. Frozen. Such warm, positive concepts seemed impossibly far away. Fragile and fading… falling…
Falling… the gun… someone please… falling… help… gun… No, pl- NO!
*BANG!*
He slammed awake, feeling as though he'd just crashed into his mattress after falling in a long, downward spiral of darkness. The world spun and for a moment he thought himself drowning. However, he soon realized he was soaked with sweat. He lay, startled and panting… heart racing rapidly…
The world continued to whirl… He lay, staring into the dizzy darkness… waiting for it all to stop. The whirling would soon cease. It always did. His doctor had called these strange wakes "night terrors" and claimed they were physiological and entirely different from dreams. A sleeping disorder of the nervous system. Crazed notions. The governor hadn't been at all surprised when the man had been burned alive for witchcraft.
When all was still and his system had calmed… he sat up. As he rubbed his eyes, he thoughtlessly mumbled, "I've never been a popular man…"
A new panic shocked through him and he struggled to his feet, his heart weak and his health poor, as it had been for decades. Blindly, he stumbled about in a frenzied, frightened state… He couldn't comprehend the darkness… couldn't comprehend where he was. Delirious, dizzy and disoriented the Governor grasped cold metal and muttered to himself, half crazed.
Then he stood silently, breathing heavy. He stared into the unknown dark… remembering very little. Slowly, with much effort, memories penetrated and he realized why he was holding ice cold bars. Grasping the iron, memories flooded back and he felt physically ill. James… Smith… impostor… court…
He was going to hang.