At all costs (The Legend of Tarzan)

Prologue

The sun was slowly setting, the sky turning the colour of the warmth of a fire. Helping the other men in the village making a fire, behind him, John could hear children talking and squealing as they were playing. He didn't need to turn around to know his son, Christopher, was among them. Even among the voice of a thousand children, he'd recognize his voice.

'You should pay more attention to the fire, than the children, John.' The sweet sound of the voice of his wife Jane filled his ears and made him smile. He turned his head towards the source of the sound and smiled at her.

'My ears can pay attention to his safety at any given time of the day, my dear, no matter what other task I am preforming.'

Jane laughed silently.

'How is our baby girl, today?' He asked.

Jane looked down at the little girl in her arms. Their dear Elizabeth was a little over two year old, and it was already obvious to the two of them she would grow up to look a lot like Jane. She had the same grey-blue eyes as her mother, and her hair was the same colour of golden copper. John already knew that one day his little Lizzie would turn the heads of many gentlemen, as her mother had one turned his own head.

'She is doing as well as always.' Jane smiled. 'She has missed you today, though.'

John took his daughter from Jane and hugged her gently. He had been away to the village of the white men, by the coast, all day. He had retrieved some new clothes for Jane and the children, and had picked up a letter sent to him by his grandfather. 'I am sorry for being away all day. But it was necessary.'

Jane reached up and pecked his lips. 'I know. So what did your grandfather's letter say?'

'I don't know, I haven't had the time to read it yet.' He and Jane both looked up as he heard the children's voices come closer to the fire. It was time for dinner. The tribe ate together every night. No tables or fancy utensils. Just the food provided by nature, and all the people they knew sitting around a warm fire. John looked back at Jane again. 'I will read it after dinner, alright?'

'Of course, now let's join them, I am terribly hungry.'

They joined their hands and joined their son, and the rest of the tribe by the fire for their evening meal. They sat there until long after the food was gone; singing songs, and telling tales of old legends until the sun was long set.

After Jane and John had put both their children to bed, John lay down on his and Jane's bed. Lighting the candle on his night stand he took out the letter from his grandfather. As he read it he was faintly aware of Jane moving through the room, readying herself for bed. As John read the letter, she saw the expression on his face change from content, to worry. She put down her hair brush and sat down on the bed, beside him.

'John, what is it? What's wrong?'

Without much attention he handed her the letter. 'Read it.' He muttered before getting up, and starting to pace the room.

John,

It is eminent that you and your family return to England as soon as you possibly can. I know that The Congo still holds a dear place in your heart, and you hate the thought of having to travel the long journey back to England, with your young children, but you are needed here. Years ago when you returned from The Congo for the first time, everyone had presumed you were dead, and your estate was left in the hands of your cousin; Jeffrey Latimor. Back then, he was reluctant to give up his claim on the Greystoke manor and wealth, but knew he had no choice but to do so. However, now that you have returned to the Congo again, he wishes to reclaim his right to the Greystoke estate. He claims you have abandoned your title, and the many farms, and their inhabitants, on the ground of your estate, without any warning, and therefore do not deserve the title any longer.

I know you are content living your life in The Congo, with no other responsibilities than those of your wife and children. But you cannot let your cousin regain his claim on the estate. The estate, and its influence on the less fortunate of England was your father's legacy. Jeffrey Latimor will not hesitate before ruining this legacy. I beg you, John, for your father, please return to Greystoke, and bring order to this madness.

With all my regards,

Your grandfather; James Stone.

Jane put the letter down on the bed. 'Well, it looks like we will be returning to England, then.'