And another letter to the King.

((This guy never writes back. He is the worst kind of pen friend ever. He made a big promise 'zomg orders tomorrow' and now it is just silence. It's really heartbreaking. Am I destined never to know true love?
To His Imperial Highness, your humble and loyal servant wishes fair tidings, safe passage, and good health.

This vessel begs forgiveness for the abruptness in which the preceding communication ended. Surely, ‘twas the stroke of providence and miracle that even that scrap of paper was dispatched to thee. Upon the midnight hour, as I was but quietly crafting my words to He who is Most Glorious, as you know from previous events, I was beset upon by a vandal! No sooner had the villain broken through the door and drawn steel against me, than my valiant son Luke interceded on my behalf. They fought neck and toe for scarcely a minute, before the cowardly assassin leaped headlong out the chamber window and vanished into the night. That wretch knew he was against a far better man in both spirit, skill and faith and fled before the justice he so wickedly deserved. I had just yet stood and thanked my son, whereupon we heard a woman’s choked off scream - alas and alack! The vagabond had, thusly been denied of his preferred kill, contented himself with the first poor woman who stood in his path. My lovely Stephanie now joins the many dead in Verona. As I said before; now is not the time for tears, but my patience and faith are sorely tested.

Not all evil went without justice ere the sun went down. This morning I found the remnants of the traitor Felice, known conspirator against our Prince, riddled with arrows. The Count’s man, Leo, claimed to have struck at her during the night as she went about her way, spreading disease, filth and lies, and her unholy countenance did prevent him for placing the final blow, nobleman that he is. But he placed his mark upon her, and thusly, the village folk granted her a fitting end for all traitors – a shameful, insignificant death, full of fear and suffering.

My steward and advisor Benvolio has continued on the path of our adversaries, retracing the final steps of our noble Prince, and gathered the names of yet more of the conspirators. We know them only by their false names – “Zero_Kanipan” and “Umhyuk” – but rest assured, this day or the next, they too will meet Felice’s fate. For ‘Uhmyuk’ I intend to grant him the same blessing that Wolf the Quarrelsome, ancient Irish warmaster, did give to Brodir whom had slain his elder brother. From Njall’s Saga, “Wolf the Quarrelsome cut open Brodir’s belly, and led him round and round the trunk of a tree, and so wound up all his entrails out of him, and he did not die before they were all drawn out of him.” Fascinating reading, Njall’s Saga. I do recommend it to you, Sire.

I have learned that the Capulet rats still wish to cross steel with us. One of their number, “LOL Patrol” was discovered inciting a mob today…though they worked with us this day, I saw their thieving, conniving looks at the wealthy Montague ladies and officers. They have a sell-sword, Marco, and he does not work for the Count – and I do wonder if this was the beast that murdered poor, helpless Stephanie the previous night. Should we find this…mercenary…we shall give his whereabouts to the Count’s man, Leo, and see what comes of it.

There is one more encounter that I must speak of because I do not know what to make of it.

As the cock-crowed the first rays of the sun kissing this troubled earth, faithful Luke brought a man in brown, tattered garb before me. This stranger pulled back his hood and I recognised him at once – it was Alfredo, the quiet Monk, whom had never spoken a word in all the years I had known him. This quiet, harmless creature had given a vow of silence and poverty, his bare feet torn and hardened from uneven cobblestones, his tired eyes weary from an eternity of reading the good book. As I stood, to my astonishment – he spoke. His voice was quiet and soft, like the evening breeze through the willows that line the east aisle of your courtyard, and his words carried the weight of an eternity of wisdom.

“Evil triumphs when good men do nothing,” he said in his old, wavering voice. He lifted his tired, work-weary arms and pointed at me. “You are charged by God to finish the commission that has been set before you.” Whereupon he took out a small, tattered scroll, and placed it before me. I recognised it at once – it was the list of traitors who had conspired against the Prince. Alfredo placed his finger on the name ‘Sapphire’. “I drew here,” Alfredo announced, and I recoiled in horror as he continued, “For they came for me with sword and fire. They torched the Bible in front of me and held my brothers lives to ransom.” I am poorly schooled in the knowledge of God, so my response was perhaps poor. I asked him how he could sign away the life of the Prince for his own brothers, when good men – my men – fought and died on these broken, hopeless streets against the evil that had condemned our guardian. I had a terrible anger, my lord, and I would have put him to the sword then and there except – I cannot harm a man of the cloth. Poor, misguided, broken Alfredo – he is God’s man. I should sooner fall on my own blade than choose to slay him.

Alfredo replied to me. It was not fear of his own life that made him draw, but fear for the souls of the town. He said that many years of silence had given him great wisdom and introspection. He knew that the Prince could not be saved by force of arms, no matter my families courage or will. He said – forgive this blasphemy, I am only passing on his treasonous words – that Prince Escalus’ death was ‘fated’. That our town, fair Verona, was meant to be plunged in to turmoil so that God could watch our mettle and faith in the greatest test of all. I asked of him, if it be fate, then why sign your name, friar? He said that all men have sins, and it is the nature of man to sin and be forgiven, then sin again, in an endless cycle until their death. Prince Escalus was a paragon above all men, and had gone to confession only an hour before hand. The Friar told me that at that moment, Escalus was pure and clean. Alfredo…cared not for our day to day affairs. “Our Prince,” he told me, “Is now giving advice to Christ, preparing His armaments, and doing battle with a far greater enemy than you or I can ever face. Our time with this great man must end so that he can be where he is needed.” Alfredo made the sign of the cross, bowed, and moved to leave. Then he turned to me once more and said, “Your place is still here. Finish what you have begun. Do everything within your power to be the best that you can be. God is watching. Your Prince is watching. Everyone is watching. Do not fail Verona in her hour of need. You are not so far removed from sin that your death will be salvation, for I have heard a great deal about your actions, Lord Montague, and yet never seen you at confession.”

With that commentary, he left.

It is not my place to pass judgement on one of God’s men, your Majesty. I understand that is your right. For this reason I will spare Friar Alfredo from the same justice that is being dispensed to the remaining traitors, so that he may face your court.

Even so; that mysterious stranger was right about one thing.

I yet have more work to do in this dark night. More assassins will surely come for my family, the Count, and myself. We shall be sure to be not found wanting.

In His most Glorious name,

Lord Montague