Of Castles and Cages

Richard adjusted himself in the saddle and stared across the English countryside. The rolling hills calmed his spirits whenever things did not feel right, but today they were as ill-at-ease as he. A cool wind blew the grass and ruffled his cloak. He pulled his chaperon lower upon his head and glanced at his companion.

Penelope was a few years older than him--although she had never confided her true age. She was mature in her mannerisms, suitable to be a bride, yet remained unwed. Though he assumed she was no more than sixteen many in court had begun to whisper.

Most wondered why he, Richard, Lord of Clardaire, did not make a marriage offer; however, Penelope had never given him a reason to see her as more than a friend. In truth, few spent as much time with him and he viewed her as more of a sibling.

He circled his horse around and gazed at the stone castle they had left. As the only heir of his father Charles, Richard had inherited the estate when he was five, after a carriage accident had taken the man. His Uncle Hubert and Aunt Cathleen, had aided his ascent and guided his decisions, but more often, Richard turned to Penelope when he puzzled over a question or concern.

Today was one of those times he sought her council and thus they were here--beyond earshot--to discuss what troubled him.

"Not all answers are meant to be found," she said.

The exactness in her words matched her attire. Even when laughing, with her hair pulled back in a net and padded roll, Penelope appeared sincere. But he did not believe her this time. An answer to his questions dangled like ripe fruit. He could feel it in his bones.

His questions--or observations--had started long before today. It was the little things like never being left alone and the constant feeling of being watched. It was the locked door at the end of the hall that no one talked about. And any time he tried to break in--when no one was around--someone always stopped him with an urgent matter.

Then there were the odd black pieces of--machinery?--small enough to hold on one's fingertip yet fragile underfoot. Richard had never seen anything like them, had only found a few hidden about the castle, and never once received an answer as to what they were for.

But the part that now bothered him most was the visions--or dreams--as Penelope called them.

They started after he had fallen deathly ill. There had been an emissary at the castle a day or two before to talk about trade options. The visit had gone well, plans were made, then their guest had broken into hysterics, practically attacked him, and proclaimed that everything he knew was a lie.

The man had been dragged from his presence. "Insanity" was the response Richard received when he asked about the man's words and behavior. No one would discuss the topic further--even Penelope.

Though shaken, Richard had done his best to move on, but his concentration began to slip. He grew tired often. There were tremors in his limbs that failed to leave with added rest and a fever.

For three days he lay sweating, shivering, and half-conscious. Physicians prescribed remedies, but nothing worked. He could remember the voices of his aunt and uncle, the concern, and final resignation in their words.

After that were glimpses of people in masks and gloves--people he did not recognize. He could feel pricks in his arms and legs and feel the wash of cold enter his body. He had been delirious, of course, but his confusion sprang from the use of tools and devices his mind could not explain rather than his temperature.

And then something had been placed over his mouth and nose that had tasted and smelled like nothing he had ever eaten. Following that he could remember little.

When he finally woke free of the fever, everything had seemed normal--except for the tiny holes in his flesh. The physicians had advised him to pray when he questioned them--which he did.

The marks faded the next day yet the memory did not. It kept returning each night as if begging to be released. His companions, even his uncle and aunt, had grown cautious around him after his recovery. With more care they chose their words and watched him when they thought he was not looking.

Yet it was the mask and memory of the strange air in his lungs that plagued him most. The rest of the household surely thought him mad by now--even he wondered if the fever had altered his perceptions--but Penelope did not think him mad and that told him much.

If he could have forgotten the whole event it would have been easier to move on. But the dreams--or visions--did not dismiss him and he struggled to keep concern from his voice as he tried to understand what he could not explain.

"I do not think they are dreams," he told to her.

"Then what are they?" Penelope walked her horse to his and stared at him.

"I don't know."

"Then how do you know they were not dreams?" she challenged.

"Because they felt real."

"As dreams often do."

"But it's not just that. I... the things I've found... and I remember." He stared across the fields. He felt confined--trapped in a way. The extent of his father's land was great and the demands were high. He did not have time to venture to places he wished.

"Richard."

He glanced at her. "As your lord, you would tell me the truth if I asked it of you, yes?"

"Of course."

"Yet in the past I have asked you things and you would not give me an answer. Is that because you do not know or are you swore to secrecy?"

Her eyelids fluttered. "Richard."

"I just want the truth. I'm tired of being dismissed and having things hidden from me... and I can't stand the fact that you might be a part of it. I just want the truth."

"Please, don't ask that," she said as her gaze shifted to the castle.

"When I was ill there was a box with wires or tubes," he said. "It was connected to my arm and made the sound of rushing water. It made me feel sick and tired."

Penelope gripped her reigns and sat straighter. Richard grabbed her wrist and held tight. "Do you know what that was? Do you know what was being done to me?"

"Release me."

"There was a mask," he continued with a shaky voice, "over my mouth. It smelled of wax and a strange perfume. I wanted to gag. It made me dizzy and I could hear voices speak of how quickly I would sleep."

Penelope swung herself off the horse and gathered her skirts. Richard dismounted and followed her.

"When I ask about what I saw everyone looks at me as if I've gone mad."

"You're not mad," she said in a low voice.

"Then tell me what I saw. Tell me what you know." He spun her to face him. "Please."

"I don't know anything," she said as she pulled against him.

"You know something. You have to. Please, Penelope. I fear I may truly go mad."

Her gaze fell to her skirts before she glanced at the castle. Across the sprawling grass, Richard could see the gate standing open. A pair of riders emerged and headed in their direction.

"How do they know?" he asked. "Are you a witch?"

"No."

"But I've barely begun to talk about this and already there are guards coming to fetch me. Like when I'm in my bedroom and no one is around yet they know I am searching the walls. How does everyone know?" He took a step back.

"Richard, please," Penelope said as she wrung her hands. "You have to stop asking these things."

"He said they were lies--the emissary. He said all of it was a lie."

"It's not all a lie."

"But you're lying to me now," he protested. "I know you, Penelope--or I thought I did."

"Richard." She took a step closer.

"Tell me the truth before they come, please."

Her lips sealed as she blinked back tears. The sound of the horses grew near.

"I need the truth," he said advancing on her. "Tell me."

She backed up as he reached for her, her foot catching in her skirts. She fell with a gasp. Richard stood above her breathing heavily.

No longer cold but flushed with warmth, his eyes widened as his gaze dropped to her chest. "What is that?" He knelt on her skirts so she could not scramble away.

Penelope glanced at her chest--at the black curl of wire that poked from her bodice. Horror filled her eyes as Richard reached for it. "No, Richard!"

He grabbed the thin cable and yanked a length of it free. He held up the end that had a small black tip and hook. "What is this?" he asked with authority. "I've found things like this before. Why do you carry one?"

Tears slipped from her eyes as the guards reigned in their horses.

"My lord," one called as he dismounted. "Your uncle requires your assistance."

"Of course he does," Richard spat. His eyes remained on Penelope. "It's all lies isn't it? Just like the man said. Everything I've ever known is a lie."

"No," Penelope sobbed.

"My lord, do you need assistance?" The guard stopped by Richard's side and took in the scene. "Are you well?"

"Fine." Richard gathered himself and returned to his horse.

"My lady?" the guard asked.

"She's fine," Richard called from atop his gray stead, "but we may need to have a witch's trial if I do not get answers soon." He flicked the reins and kicked the sides of his horse.         

-----   

Back at the castle, Richard sat on his bed brooding. He had refused to see his uncle and escorted himself to his chambers. Servants had offered food but he had dismissed them all. The urgent matter he was needed for had disappeared upon his return. His outburst was now talked of the halls and he could not care less. If he was truly mad then he was unsuited to be lord and should be replaced.

But he did not feel unbalanced and when his aunt and uncle came to see him, their looks of pity did not make him fell less sane.

"Richard, dear," his aunt began. "I hear you've had another episode."

Richard folded his hands and stared at her.

She placed her palms on either side of his face. "How do you feel?"

He contemplated not saying anything, but that would only feed their delusion that he could be made to bend to their will and believe whatever they fed him. He released a long sigh then said it. "Why are you lying to me?"

Her hands fell from his face. "I'm not lying to you, Richard."

"Of course you are. You all are." He glanced at his uncle who stood across the room by the large door. "Everything I've been told is a lie and I don't want any part of it."

"We're not lying to you, Richard," she said again.

"Then tell me what Penelope had beneath her bodice. What was it and what is it for? And do you have one as well? Do all of you have them?"

His aunt's expression remained cool. "I was hoping that by now you'd be well enough to return to your duties, but it appears you still need rest."

"How is it that everyone knows what I do and say?" Richard asked. He looked to his uncle. "What was so important that I return immediately for that it could be so easily be dismissed?"

"The issue has been dealt with," his uncle said.

"I'm sure it has. I'm sure every issue in this household could've been taken care of just as easily if I were not asking so many questions."

"Well, I can see you are still unsettled," his aunt said. "We shall come back later."

"Or you could stay," Richard offered. "I could check out the walls and crevices you don't want me to go near. You could stop me from even walking over there." He stood from the bed. "Perhaps I should go now so you don't have to move."

"Richard, you're being ridiculous," his aunt said as she folded her arms.

"Am I?" He moved to the nearest wall and began tapping each stone.

"You won't find anything," she said.

"Because you've already taken care of whatever it is," he said stepping away. "But perhaps there is another location. Maybe I should check this one?" He crossed to the adjoining wall.

"Richard, you must stop this."

"Cathleen, perhaps," his uncle began.

"Don't say it," she snapped. "I don't need you taking sides." Her eyes narrowed as he drew near and took her hands.

"This has gone on long enough." He glanced at Richard who watched them. "He's not a child anymore--in any century. He's old enough to understand and can still give us valuable information. We have to tell him."

Richard held his breath as his aunt pulled her hands away and wrung them together. He dared not move or make a sound. She was considering--he could tell from the set of her jaw--but she also battled emotions that could pivot her from a favorable decision. Whatever struggle raged within her was deep and personal.

"Richard," his uncle began, "your life has been an experiment--a study in times past. We--along with others--wanted to learn about social growth and development in other time periods. In this case, the early 15th century." He glanced at Cathleen, who looked away.

"In order to accurately study someone from the past and learn their perspective on things we needed to have someone from the past to talk to--which is impossible. The only way to have such an interaction was to raise someone as if they were in the past and to engage with them once fully established. In this case, that person is you."

Richard stared at his uncle. He was not sure what to think. It sounded like they had raised him to believe he was from a time period that no longer existed. "So," he tired to form words, "are you saying that we are not in England and I'm not really a lord--that you made me believe all of this was true?"

"Yes," his aunt said with a sharp edge. "You have been raised as the lord of a manor would have been raised. You have been given all the privileges and education someone from the 1400s would have received."

"So you've been lying to me."

"It is our hope," she said as she straightened her skirts, "that we can learn from each other through this process."

"But you lied to me."

"Oh get over yourself, Richard. You could've been raised a peasant instead of a lord. You were given everything and now all you want is the truth? Well, the truth is that you could've been just another child in a world of billions. Instead you were raised in a manor and given every consideration others would only dream about." She took a step toward him.

"You stand there whining about being lied to, but you have no idea how much lies and hate live in the world beyond this sanctuary. You were chosen by your father and me to be in this position, to be able to help others through the gathering of knowledge. You should be grateful for this opportunity."

She pulled her skirts up and bustled to the door. "Are you coming?" she asked his uncle.

He shook his head. "I will shortly."

"Don't waste your breath," she said then left.

"I know it's a lot to process," his uncle said, "but she means well. They both did. A lot can be learned from your views on things. You might even be able to make suggestions about issue we face now."

"When is now?" Richard asked as he sat on the bed.

"We are in the 21st century and much has changed."

He mulled over that answer even though he was not able to fully grasp what all it meant. "She said that my father helped her chose me."

"This was their project. It is what brought them together--in marriage, I mean."

"But I thought--"

"She's your mother, Richard. Cathleen is you mother and Penelope is your sister."

"My what?" He stared at his uncle. "And are you my father?"

"No, Charles was my brother. He and your mother started this program with your sister, but she found out too quickly--which is why they started again with you."

"And you let them?"

"Before he died Charles asked me to help your mother... so I did. They had good intentions."

"But is having an intention that is right good enough?"

His uncle smiled. "That's why you need to share your perspective. You will see things in a way others cannot."

"And yet my perspective was formed based on the perceptions of others and the interpretations they made about the past. So will anything truly come from me or will I only reflect what I've been told?"

His uncle produced a sad smile. "I don't know. But I will be interested to hear what you have to say." He turned to the door.

"I won't do it."

His uncle faced him.

"I won't be a part of this... deception. It's cruel and hateful and I won't help you get answers for questions when I've been denied them."

"Richard you can't leave. This complex has been--"

"I don't care. I'll find a way. Even if no one helps me, I'll find a way out."