Chapter V

Though understandably shaken and still somewhat distracted by his near encounter with such black-minded ruffians, Luke could not help but be impressed by this newcomer. He was an older gentleman, dressed impeccably and in clothes of exquisite quality, and yet there was none of that exorbitance or desperation for attention which Luke had so often noticed in the appearance of the Tatooinshire elite. His neat, snowy white beard and wrinkled face spoke of wisdom and experience, so much so that Luke very nearly bowed to him in respect out of instinct alone.

He wore no periwig, which was somewhat surprising for a man of his age – and yet the most surprising thing about him by far was the presence of a long, sheathed blade hanging from his belt. His age, class, and appearance did not mark him as the sort of man who would use a weapon of any sort. But perhaps it was not so surprising for a man wandering the night at such an hour to bring some manner of defense. Luke noticed that the man’s hand rested on the hilt of the sword quiet casually.

The young man alighted to the ground to greet the older man warmly. “Do you know me, sir? If it was you who signaled the trumpet and frightened away those men, I thank you with all my heart. My uncle shall certainly reward you for your aid,” Luke said, as graciously as possible.

“I am relieved that they still fear the forces of the law,” the man replied, “Perhaps the memories of the ancient days of honor have not disappeared as completely as I have feared.” The strange gentleman surveyed Luke and his two companions. “What brings you out so late at night with so small an escort, young man?”

At this the young Luke sighed, feeling there would be no use in hiding the truth from his mysterious benefactor. He indicated Arthur with a nod of his head. “This fellow has taken it upon himself to run off and deliver a message to Mr. Kenobi at the old Jundland Cottage – as he is lately under the employment of my uncle, I felt it my duty to come after him. He refuses to explain the nature of his message, nor why its urgency required him to travel the roads at such an ungodly hour of the night.”

Arthur Deetoo still showed not the slightest bit of shame or remorse, but his companion Mr. Treypeo more than made up for this deficiency. The small man sputtered weak apologies that were barely audible and covered his face with his hands.

“A message for Kenobi, you say?” the gentlemen replied, scratching his beard, “Peculiar. Very peculiar, indeed.”

“Pardon me,” Luke asked, “But do you by chance know Mr. Kenobi?”

The gentleman laughed and patted Luke on the shoulder with strange familiarity. “As well as any man can know himself. I am the man, though I can’t say why anyone should want to send me a message or who would know where to find me if they did. But we should not speak of these things here. Bandits frighten easily, but you may rest assured that they will not stay away forever; and when they return they will have doubled in strength. Their kind flourishes in our present age of darkness. Come.”

Young Luke and his two servants had no intention of disobeying the command of the noble gentleman, and followed him without comment back to his residence in the Jundland Cottage. Luke had always been told that the structure was old and rundown, and yet this information was quickly proved to be inaccurate. While certainly past its prime, it was as well-kept and exhibited the same quality of good taste and refinement as old Kenobi himself.

Once they were safely within the gentleman’s abode, Luke felt Sir Benjamin Kenobi’s eyes upon him, studying him under the light of the flickering candles. The old man’s face was suddenly ashen and grave.

“Are you feeling quite alright, sir?” asked Threepeo, “You look as if you have seen a ghost!”

“Perhaps I have at that,” muttered Sir Kenobi, “I was not prepared for how strongly you resemble your father, young Luke. You are the very image of the man.”

“You knew my father?” Luke asked eagerly. Over the years, Mr. Lars had provided precious little information regarding his nephew’s heritage, and if there was any person more curious to know the truth about his mysterious past than the gossip-prone ladies of the local society, it was Luke himself.

“Oh, yes indeed, like a brother. We were friends and comrades-in-arms once, a long time ago, during the Civil War. Come, sit with me, and we shall enjoy a pot of tea.”

They all agreed that a cup of tea would be just the thing to shake off the horrible experience that had just befallen them. Sir Kenobi invited them all to sit at ease in his parlour, even the two servants, while he himself prepared the kettle. Luke was again impressed by his kindness and gentility. He did not stand upon ceremony, and yet there was the air of greatest refinement and sophistication about him. Soon they were all comfortably set up with a cup of hot tea and a single biscuit.

“I believe you are mistaken, sir, or I am,” Luke said politely, sipping his tea cautiously, “I had been led to believe that my father was a first mate on a simple merchant ship, not a warrior or a soldier of any kind.”

“Of course you were,” Sir Kenobi replied, “Your uncle did not approve of your father’s choice of profession. He would not have wanted you to get any ideas about following in his footsteps.”

Luke knew this to be true, and felt a pang of bitterness towards his uncle. “I wish I knew more of my father; so little of any consequence has been related to me.”

The old gentlemen smiled as memories of ancient days played across his face. “Your father was the finest warrior I have ever met -- and the dearest friend that a man could wish for. In fact, I have something of his here in my possession that by rights should belong to you. He would have wanted you to inherit it, I feel certain.”

Luke felt himself growing excited at the prospect of possessing something that had once belonged to his mysterious father. When Sir Kenobi revealed the item itself, Luke felt he might be faint with joy.

“It’s beautiful,” the young man breathed, for so it was. It was a long, slightly curved blade of the most elegant design. The hilt and sheathe were intricately woven in silver and gold. Luke pulled the sword free and admired the obvious craftsmanship in every element. It felt as weightless as a feather in his hand, but he could tell at once that the edge was razor sharp and deadly in the right hands.

“It is a light sabre,” Sir Kenobi explained, “of the best Spanish craftsmanship. You’ll not find better blades forged these days, I assure you. It is a noble weapon, much more precise and gentlemanly than the muskets and cannons of today. And it is the proper weapon for a Knight of the Order of the Jedi.”

Luke noticed that the blade hanging from the old man’s belt was of a similar design to the one he held in his hands. “The Order of Jedi?” he asked, “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not familiar with the order of which you speak.”

Sir Benjamin shook his head sadly. “Your uncle has neglected your education more grossly than I had imagined. The order of Jedi was once the most ancient order of knights, dating from the age of legends. It is said that since the days of King Arthur himself there have been knights of our order to defend the realm and to uphold all that is noblest and most civilized in our land. We taught the country what it was to be gentlemen, warriors, and scholars – and we showed the world what it meant to be British. Before the recent wars with France, of course. The fiendish Napoleon’s first action as the new Emperor of our land was to officially disband the order, ending our long tradition. His troops hunted us down without mercy, and our numbers were thinned during the war so we had no strength to resist. Thus our order has passed away into history…” His voice trembled slightly.

“Do none of the order yet live besides yourself?” Luke asked.

“Only one other,” the old gentleman replied, “but as I have had no news from him in many years, it is entirely possible that I am all that is left.” He took a long, weary sip from his tea, as though a great weight had suddenly reasserted itself upon him.

Luke was now quite certain that most of what he had previously been told regarding his father was a lie and was eager to learn more of the truth. His mind still reeled from the thought that he was not the son of a merchant sailor, as he had previously believed, but of a noble knight of an ancient order. He would not be able to rest now until he had heard all.

“Did my father die in the war against France?” Luke asked softly.

The old man’s look turned dark again, and his lips tightened. “Not exactly, I’m afraid. Have you heard of the English traitor the French call Monsieur Le Vader?”

The young man nodded somberly, his eyes wide. “He is the terror of the seas and the right hand of Napoleon, so I have heard it said. Few who face him live to tell the tale.”

“He is as different from your father as a man can be. I am ashamed to confess that he was my squire for many years and that the responsibility for his education was on my shoulders. I could not have foreseen his betrayal to me and to the King, yet still I blame myself for all that has transpired, not the least of which was the fate of your poor father. Many unfortunate men have been destroyed in that evil man’s reign of terror; your father was the first. Le Vader forgot the code of honor that gives a knight his strength – he was seduced by money and power, and the savagery of Napoleon’s armies. His treason turned the tide of the war and took your father away from us forever.”

Luke studied his father’s sabre with sad longing, so overwhelmed with emotion at all of this new information that he felt quite certain he would not be able to speak. Sir Benjamin Kenobi, correctly judging the young man’s attitude, patted him comfortingly on the shoulder and let the matter end there.

With sad talk of the past behind them, Sir Benjamin now turned his attention to the matters at hand. Throughout the evening’s exchange, Arthur Deetoo had grown more and more restless, eager to interrupt the conversation between the two gentlemen but too polite to do so. He had not taken so much as a nibble of his biscuit and only one or two sips of tea. Instead, he held the mysterious letter before him, ready to present it to the old knight and complete his charge as soon as he was presented with the slightest opportunity to do so.

Such an opportunity was not long in coming. “Now, my young friend,” said Sir Kenobi, turning to the sailor, “Let us speak about this message which you were so determined to bring to me.”

Mr. Deetoo’s sigh of relief was audible, and he thrust the parchment into the gentleman’s hands with great alacrity. Sir Kenobi glanced at writing on the outside and raised his eyebrows slightly to see his name and titles so elegantly described there. Without another word he broke the seal and scanned the contents of the letter.

“Luke,” he said at last, “I’m afraid that I require your assistance. Pray, lend me your youthful eyes for a few moments. In my advanced age, I do not see so well by candlelight. If you would be so kind as to read the letter aloud to me, we may soon learn its import.”

This was a task most agreeable to Luke’s disposition, as he was already quite desperate in his curiosity to know the contents of the letter, and the young man's melancholy meditation on his father's fate was quickly cheered by this new opportunity. He accepted the unfolded parchment from the old gentleman and held it up to the light. It was written in the same flowing, admirable hand as before. Luke was almost certain he could catch the slightest scent of perfume wafting from the parchment, a scent mysterious and feminine and yet somehow familiar. He knew at once that this was a pivotal moment and that something in him had now changed forever, and he was quite unsure if he was ready for the world to be changed so drastically. Thus as he read the letter aloud he found his voice was unsteady and soft, the strange new voice of his strange new self:

To the Illustrious and Renowned General Kenobi,
Greetings,

You do not know me, kind sir, but I know of you. My father has often related to me the heroism, courage, and loyalty with which you served him during our last great struggle against the forces of France. At this time, dear sir, it has become expedient to rise up again in defiance against Napoleon Palpatine, and my father now must ask for that same aid and counsel which once you rendered to him so faithfully. It is with the most profound regrets that I confess that I shall not be allowed the honor of begging for your aid in person, for it now appears that the Empire has been apprised of the nature of my mission and we are sure to be intercepted. I have passed this letter into the hands of a faithful and loyal sailor named Arthur Deetoo, and I pray to God he and this message have come safely to you. He possesses information of the most vital and irreplaceable importance, which may indeed prove to be the key to the salvation of our fledging Resistance. I must beg you to accompany him to my father’s ancestral estate in the port of Alderaan-upon-Avon, where many of our allies are in hiding. Under suspicion of the Empire, the city has been heavily garrisoned and the port completely blockaded -- I fear my loyal servant Mr. Deetoo will never make it there successfully without your noble aid. I beg you as well, dear sir, to forgive the impertinence of this request. The times require desperate and bold action.

I must again entreat you with all my heart to aid us, for without you, Sir Kenobi, I fear I have no other to place my hopes upon.

Sincerely,
HRH Leia Organa
Duchess of Alderaan and Princess of the Realm

Luke felt his face grow pale. His voice trailed off as he read the illustrious titles of the writer of the letter. This was far beyond and above him, and he was very much intimidated by such lofty matters even as he longed to be a part of them, fear and desire mingling in him in equal measure.

“The princess!” exclaimed Treypeo, staring in shock at Arthur Deetoo, “I had no idea our passenger was royal! I did not pay her all due deference and respect!” He fretted, wringing his bony hands furiously.

“It was most prudent of Her Highness to hide her identity, given the circumstances,” said Sir Kenobi, reclaiming the letter from Luke, “A wise precaution, though not sufficient, it would seem.”

And with a cavalier flick of the wrist, the old knight tossed the letter into the fire. The others gasped and rose to their feet in surprise to see such an important letter destroyed without so much as a thought. “A precaution of our own,” Kenobi explained, “we dare not risk this letter falling into the hands of our enemies, or one of their spies. As we know now what we are to do, we no longer require it.”

“Then you intend to aid Her Highness as requested?” Treypeo asked curiously. Arthur Deetoo leaned forward, eager to her the gentleman’s reply to the question.

“But of course,” replied Sir Benjamin, lifting his chin and looking suddenly far younger than his years, “Our order may be disbanded, but I am still a knight and loyal to the Crown. I swore an oath of fealty to the King that should ever the need arise again for my service I would be there. I will guide you to Alderaan and protect you with my life – you have the word of a Jedi.”

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief, echoed almost immediately by his slim and anxious companion. “Thank goodness,” said Mr. Treypeo, “How pleasant to have the matter resolved so satisfactorily. Of course, Arthur will have to tender his resignation to Mr. Lars at once, but the gentleman can hardly object when it is shown a matter of the gravest national importance is at hand. I wish you both the best of good fortune.”

“I’m afraid that you shall join us on the journey, friend,” old Benjamin replied gravely, “I have no doubt that the French are now looking for you both. To remain here would be foolish and dangerous.”

“But, that cannot be!” sputtered Mr. Treypeo, “I know nothing of these affairs! Besides, I am an employee of the Lars family now and cannot go gallivanting off on adventures to God knows where whenever I should so please. Master Luke, please talk some sense into this man. Tell him you and I must return to the estate at once!”

Luke was still too stricken to speak, but the elder knight raised his eyebrows. “Have you not guessed?” he said, “Young Luke shall have to come with us as well. It is his fate.”

At last the young man found his voice. “Me?” he asked incredulously, “Sir, you honor me, but you cannot be serious.”

But Sir Benjamin Kenobi appeared very serious indeed, his face a mask of solemn sincerity. “Come with me to Alderaan, young Luke. Become my squire and learn the ways of knighthood as once your father did. Even in dark times such as these, chivalry can only die if we allow it to be so, if we do nothing. Perhaps in you the light of the Jedi will shine once more upon the face of England, saving her from the clutches of France.”

Luke felt his soul stir within him, felt the longing which had kept him so long restless with his life in Anchorhead. And yet there still remained the fear, the doubt, the sense of responsibility to his duties despite everything, all of which combined to create in him the greatest sense of unease and reluctance. He had long desired the opportunity that now presented itself, and now that it had come he found he could not bring himself to fully credit it.

“Sir, I am flattered by your high estimation of me,” he said, “But you are mistaken. I am not destined to save our nation, nor to become a great warrior such as you say my father was. I am a country gentleman’s ward, no more or less, and I cannot abandon my uncle and aunt now, so close to harvest time when they will need me most. How would it look?” He felt ashamed of himself even as he said it and knew that it was his guardians, not himself, who were the true authors of these words.

A look of the purest disappointment crossed Kenobi’s face. “You are indeed only that which you believe yourself to be. No more, no less.” He sighed and turned his back to the others. “Come, I shall show you to rooms where you may retire. I shall return you to your uncle’s estates at first light, and then these gentlemen and I must start our journey.”

Luke felt the sharpest regrets for his words. “I had no wish to offend you, sir.”

“Certainly not,” replied the old man gracefully, as he left the room, “Of that I have no doubt.”