Slaying the Silence

Prologue

August 13, A.D. 1683

       The Marquis de Jacques forcefully brought his knife down on the table, piercing the map.  "Nine raids, Monsieur – nine raids in the last month!  Who does this man believe he is?"   

     The captain of the guard cleared his throat, willing his trembling legs to remain still.  "He is a wanted thief, my lord.  Not much is known about him," he answered in as cool a voice as he could muster. 

"Obviously," the marquis snapped, glaring at the other man.  He took several deep breaths, however, and then continued in a quieter tone of voice.  "Our lord the king is at war to extend the borders of France – this you know.  Therefore while he is absent, it is the solemn duty of men like you to protect his kingdom."  His eyes narrowed, the hostile look returning.  "You are not living up to the king's expectations." 

     The man simply nodded, keeping his head up.  He was a chevalier, a nobleman.  He should not let this man patronize him, regardless of his higher status.  Forcing his chin up, he stared levelly into the man's eyes.  "What do you propose we do, my lord?" 

     The marquis wrenched the dagger out of the table and set it to the side.  Leaning closer to the man, he spoke in a low, menacing tone.  "Map out the robbed areas and post guards at wherever this thief may strike next.  See all, but do not be seen.  Catch this reprobate and have him hanged." 

         Swallowing the lump in his throat, the man gave him a shallow bow.  "It shall be done as you said."

    The man turned on his heels and marched out of the room.  The marquis watched him leave, his eyes ever narrowed.  When the man disappeared from sight, the marquis heaved a sigh and glared at the map in front of him.  Red markings taunted him, all areas where this murderous thief had struck. 

    Almost unwillingly, his eyes were drawn to a portrait that hung on the far wall.  It was that of a lady, smiling warmly.   He walked over to the portrait and fleetingly caressed the woman's cheek.  "You made me promise, my dear," he whispered.  "You told me to keep the land you loved pure and beautiful."  His expression hardened.  "I will keep my promise, even if it the last thing that I do."

      His gaze again wandered to the map stretched out on the table.  He frowned and walked over to it, retrieving the dagger that lay upon it.  "Lord God," he entreated, glancing heavenward, "help me to fulfill my vow."   

      For the first time, he noticed an unopened envelope that lay on the table, partially hidden under the map.  He drew it out and examined it.  On the front were written the simple words 'to the Marquis de Jacques', sprawled out in an elegant, albeit rushed, cursive. 

       He hurriedly pulled out a letter, scanning its contents.  Once he had read it, he threw it against the table and unleashed a cry of frustration.  The letter, from another one of the king's nobles, hurriedly explained of another raid that had been made, this time on an entire town.   'The town was sleeping when he came,' the letter stated.  'He set the homes on flame.  They easily caught fire, distracting the villagers.  The man was able to steal away half of the local treasury – enough to heavily burden two horses.'

       The letter went on to describe the raid, and ended in a plea for help.  The marquis stood quietly, quavering with indignation.  These days, letters such as this were arriving constantly.  Sometimes the exact methods were different, but the result was always the same.  Destruction and loss, dealt efficiently and mercilessly.  None had seen the true face of this man, for those who set eyes on him were either killed or frightened into madness. 

      A ghost, the man was now called.  There were rumors floating about, of course.  Some said he was tall and thin – others he was stocky and solidly-built.  But they all said that he wore a mask, pale and cold.  "Why," they asked, "would he wear a mask, but to hide his spectral identity?"  In fact, the man was now known as 'the Silent Phantom.'    

      But the marquis had dealt with such men, and hated them all.  They seemed to feed off of the fear and chaos.  Unable to control himself any longer, he rushed to the chamber's window and stared out into the darkness.  "Your reign of terror will end!"  the man cried, shaking a fist in the air.  "Silent Phantom," he growled, glaring out at the forest.  "You will indeed be silenced."