by Lisa Cach
I was beginning to think I had misunderstood.
If Alaric, like Sid, thought that lust was a sin, then I could not use it to manipulate him. I would have only his sense of justice to rely upon. And from what I’d seen of how men twisted “justice” to fit the ends that served them best—and what was best for Alaric surely was keeping Sygarius as an ally—my quest was doomed.
Lust was the only sword I had. With Alaric, I feared my blade would be quickly blunted against the shield of his Christian virtue.
Fuck.
Not that I’d have the chance.
What is that?” I cried, gripping Terix’s arm. Beside me, Bone growled, his hackles rising.
“Jupiter’s hairy balls, I’ve got no idea.”
Together we gaped at the tall, dun-colored beast lazily chewing grain beside a market stall lined with deeply colored carpets, glassware in hues of green and blue, and platters and lamps of polished copper. With nothing to do to fill our afternoon before moving into the palace, Sid had suggested that Terix and I explore the marketplace while he took a nap. I was glad of the distraction, as it kept me from stewing on how inappropriately I had been dressed for court, and from second-guessing every word I’d said.
Fenwig and two soldiers followed several steps behind us, their own astonishment at the riches of the marketplace as great as ours, though they did a better job of hiding it. We’d already seen more new sights in this short time than in all our years put together: people in all shapes and colors, foodstuffs we didn’t recognize and tasted with shrieks of surprise and disgust, brocade cloths and dyed leathers and embroidered trims that dizzied me with their colors and artistry—but this tall, four-legged, lumpy creature made all else seem commonplace.
Gripping each other’s hands for courage, we inched closer. “It looks tame,” Terix said.
“I wouldn’t think they’d leave it tied to a stall post if it was dangerous. Would they? Perhaps it guards against thieves.”
It had a long, flexible neck and a head like a misshapen loaf of bread. It turned its head to stare at us. I giggled.
“What?”
“Its big eyes, with those long lashes. They’re like Alaric’s.”
As we got closer, Terix reached out a hand to touch it. Bone moved forward at the same time, alarming the beast: it craned its neck and spit a wad of slobber and grain right into Bone’s face.
Bone yelped, then hunched down and pawed at his muzzle, trying to scrape off the mess. Terix and I both laughed, and our voices brought the stall owner out from the shadows, where he’d been sitting on a stool working on a piece of jewelry.
The middle-aged man was short and swarthy, with a narrow black beard that came to a point. He put his hands on his hips and gave us a mock-serious look. “Are you thinking of buying my Jasmine?” he asked in Latin. “She comes at a very high price, I warn you. You’d have to go a thousand miles to find such a beauty as this.”
“I do not doubt it,” I said. “Please, could you tell us: what is your Jasmine?”
He stroked the animal on the neck, and she responded by baring her front teeth. “Hey, hey, no more spitting. It’s bad manners. And besides, you love me.” He reached into her bucket and held a handful of grain for her. “My Jasmine is a camel; a beast of burden from the deserts, where they travel for hundreds of miles before needing water.”
“Oh! I’ve heard of camels, I think. How comes she to be here, so far from a desert?”
“She came with me, of course! Every summer I come from Syria with my goods, and my Jasmine would pine away to nothing if I left her home without me. Camels are sensitive creatures.” He winked. “And she gets attention, yes? Everyone knows which stall is Naji’s. I am Naji.”
“And this is your stall.”
“Why yes! Won’t you come in? I have a pair of golden slippers that would turn your feet into those of a nymph.”
“I think nymphs go barefoot.”
“Only because they don’t have slippers such as these.”
We let him draw us into his stall, where he sat us on stuffed leather stools and brought us sweet mint tea and almond cakes, chattering all the while. I suspected his friendliness was an act meant to make us feel awkward if we did not buy something, but he was so good at it—or so genuine, and perhaps the two were the same—that I did not want to leave, and felt as if I would buy a goblet or platter I didn’t need purely to stay in his good graces.
Terix fell for a belt decorated with bronze studs in the shapes of stylized animals, each one different and many of them unrecognizable to us. When he strapped it around his hips, the long tongue hung down in front to mid-thigh. “It will make women think my mentula is just as big,” he said happily.
“They might think it as floppy, too,” I said as I paid for the belt out of the purse Clovis had given me.
Terix grasped the strap in his fist and slowly stroked downward, as if pulling his rod. “No woman can see this and not want to make it stand. Here Nimia, touch it.” He waggled the end of the belt at me.
I laughed, slapping at it. “Get it away!”
He let the end droop over his hand. “Aw. Now he’s sad.”
“Good. He needs to behave himself, at least in public.” I’d talked to Terix about the prudery that reigned at Alaric’s court. He was as befuddled as I was, and dismayed that there might not be many carefree young maids eager for a bit of fun behind the kitchens, in the stables, under shrubberies. . . .
I bought a richly colored red and blue carpet for Clovis—he would be the only Frank to have such a thing—as well as a finely woven, impossibly soft blanket for Theo; an exotic dagger for Basina; and with Terix’s advice I chose a silver and turquoise necklace for Audofleda. I had gone mad with my shopping, but never in my life had I had either a purse full of coin or temptations such as these.
“Now you must have something for yourself,” Naji said. “A necklace of amber, I think, to draw upon the gold in your eyes.” He was reaching for such when I stopped him.
“I have the only necklace I’ll ever want,” I said, and shifted aside the filmy scarf at my neck to reveal the labyrinth and bee.
Naji squinted at it, then begged my pardon and leaned closer. I held it away from my skin so he could see the intricate work of the labyrinth, which perfectly echoed the tattoos over my loins and sex. The goldsmith who made the necklace had suffered through an afternoon of blushes and a stiff erection as he traced the designs from my body.
Naji’s mouth tightened and he stroked his beard, staring at the necklace. “An unusual piece. Where did you find it?”
“It was made for me. The labyrinth is the same as was tattooed on my body when I was a child.” I had become so comfortable with Naji, the information spilled from me without thought.
“And the bee?”
“Ah. That is a different story, and too long to tell.”
“And yet it is part of the necklace.”
“I wanted it there, I’m not sure why. It felt . . . fitting. As if that was where it was meant to be.”
Naji wound the end of his beard around his finger and tugged at it, looking strangely nervous. “I thought you said you were from the north, that you lived among the Franks.”
“At the moment. Before that, somewhere in the Alps.”
“Not farther south?”
I shook my head. “Not that I know of, but my people, the Phanne, seemed more likely to travel than not. Why?”
He released his beard and smiled. “I was thinking of the story of Ariadne, and the labyrinth.”
I got the feeling that wasn’t entirely what had been going through his head. What was he hiding? “Yes, I know it.”
“A myth, of course. A story the Greeks created.”
I nodded, curious where this was going.
“There was truth at the base of it, though; a memory of ancient people
s who built great stone labyrinths such as the design you wear on your neck and skin.”
I leaned forward, excitement rising within me. “Which peoples?” This was the first I’d ever heard of labyrinths being real structures, rather than drawn designs or decorative patterns of tiles upon a floor.
“Their names are lost to time . . . but not all their works are. Many years ago I was on a trading voyage, and came to the harbor of Cnossos on the isle of Crete. Repairs to the ship meant a delay, and a local woman I befriended—a beauty, she was, with long black hair in silken ringlets and a bosom like . . . Never mind that, you don’t want to hear it—brought me to the ruins of such a labyrinth, hidden away in the hills, near the remains of a forgotten palace buried in the soils of time. She said that the local women believed that if one made love at the center of the labyrinth, with honey smeared upon one’s loins, the gods would grant a child from the union.”
“Did you try it?” I asked, breathless.
Naji’s eyes showed strain at the corners, and his smile was almost a grimace. “I wanted her badly enough, but not so much the child, eh? And besides that . . .” He shook his head. “Never mind.”
“Naji, tell me, please. I know so little of my people. I was taken from them when I was too young to learn their ways.”
“Perhaps the gods were being kind.”
I waited.
Naji breathed out a long breath through his nose and tossed up his hands. “My beautiful woman, she was not alone. There were other women waiting in the labyrinth, and one held a gold, double-headed axe. I chose life over lust, and fled.”
“Wh-what were they going to do to you?”
“I chose not to find out.”
My distress must have shown on my face, for he refilled my cup of mint tea and gave me a sad smile. “Surely they were not your people. They were ignorant peasants, following the echoes of a ritual from centuries past. It’s your bee that made me remember that day. It’s not so usual to see a bee—the maker of honey—with a labyrinth, is it? So I wondered if your people, too, made love smeared with honey, at the center of a maze.”
“And if we sacrificed the man afterward with an axe? Gods, I hope not.” I remembered how I had used honey to trace the design in the chalice, before using it to cure myself. Could the Phanne have originally come from Crete, centuries past? And if so, what had happened to drive them out? More important still: were those women Phanne? “Did you discover anything else about the labyrinth, or the people who had built it, or lived in the palace?”
“There was not much more talking between us. But on the way to the labyrinth, she’d taken me down into a small room in the buried palace ruins, and showed me a fragment of fresco that had somehow survived. There wasn’t much left to see, or that could be made out. I remember spirals, though. . . . Endless spirals.”
“Spirals,” I echoed, and felt my breasts tingle. They were covered in spirals, too.
“Over these years since, I have sailed to many of the ports along the coasts of the Mediterranean. Sometimes I have heard of other labyrinths: in Egypt. In Africa, in the lands of the Mauri. In Byzantium. I have had a fascination with them since that day in Crete.”
“Have you heard of the Phanne, in any of these places?”
He shook his head, then said with false cheer, “Maybe someday you will see one of these labyrinths for yourself.”
I nodded, my mind lost in possibilities . . . and impossibilities. How would I ever get to Crete, or Byzantium? I hadn’t even made it to Britannia, to find Maerlin of the Phanne. I wasn’t even so certain now that I wanted to.
A double-headed axe of gold . . . There was only one thing you did with such a weapon: you killed a living creature, and sacrificed its blood to the gods.
My stomach turned uneasily, remembering how I’d made Terix spill his blood into the chalice, and I cast a glance his way, to find him doing the same to me.
“And when you walk one of these labyrinths,” Naji went on without enthusiasm, “you should be wearing golden slippers such as these.” He brought out a pair of slippers embroidered with golden threads and encrusted with small circles of polished tin that glinted like sunlight on water.
Naji’s delight in our company had clearly worn thin. I sensed he wanted to be rid of us, my association with labyrinths bringing up too many dark suspicions. So I bought the slippers and we left.
That evening I dined with Sid, Alaric, and a small group of Gothic nobles, including a plump matron beside me who belched her way through the courses and had no topic of conversation beyond the cleverness of her children. She demanded only the occasional murmur of agreement from me, which freed me to devote most of my attention to observing Alaric.
He lay at the center of the U-shaped dining couch—a fashionable advancement over the three couches that were still standard in northern Gaul—with the ends of his long legs dangling off the edge no matter how he arranged himself. He looked younger now that he’d had a few glasses of wine and relaxed, and the burden of dispensing justice for the day had come to an end. Sid’s stream of stories had him smiling and laughing, his dark eyes sparkling with delight.
“The king is in rare good cheer tonight,” the matron beside me said in Gothic. I knew she had some Latin, but not enough to follow Sid’s quick, dramatic storytelling. “It’s good to see. He has grown ever more serious since his wife died, God rest her soul.”
I turned away from my study of Alaric. “Wife?”
“Mmm. A year ago, of a fever. And poor little Gesalic left motherless. We’re all hoping Alaric takes a new bride, but he has taken no steps to do so.”
“That is . . . a pity.” Not really. The news couldn’t be better, from my point of view. “How old is the child?”
“A year and a half. He needs brothers, though, yes?” She belched, took a sip of wine, and lowered her voice, which had gone slightly slurry. “Such a vigorous young man should be busy siring sons, yes? Instead, his priests fill his head with melancholy lessons on self-control and damnation.”
“Are you not Christian, as well?”
“Of course I am. But I’m not dead, am I? And I can see that what a young man needs is a wife. There is such a thing as being too free of sin.”
I chuckled, suddenly liking her much better.
We both turned our attention back to watching the king. I couldn’t help comparing him to Clovis; something perhaps I shouldn’t have done, as it brought up conflicting feelings that left me angry, guilty, and rebellious, as well as painfully aware of my skin’s hunger for touch.
Clovis: a cold steel blade of a man. Strong. Ruthless. Determined. And yet, at rare moments, tender. Those moments of tenderness were all the sweeter for their scarcity. I was bound to him by a force beyond my control, that paid no heed to my happiness. I assumed it to be love.
Alaric: a warm fire on a rainy night. That’s the sense I got, watching him now. He had shown firmness and control while conducting the affairs of court, but this easy laughter with Sid, and his long-limbed sprawl on the couch, spoke of a man who valued companionship over power; so much so that he had to fight his own instincts in order to lead.
What would it be like to lie in bed with a man such as that? I hadn’t enough experience to tell . . . though I was curious.
I thought of the bag of wild carrot seeds that Basina had sent with me on this journey, and that I’d been taking, just in case. And of Clovis’s willingness to have me sleep with Alaric, if it meant success in retrieving Sygarius.
Would it be disloyal to Clovis, to sleep with Alaric only because I wanted to, rather than because I had to?
Yes.
On the other hand, if Clovis wanted my sexual favors only for himself, he should marry me. Not send me hundreds of miles away to seduce another man.
All of which was pointless speculation if I couldn’t even get Alaric to look at me, much less lay o
ne of those large hands on me. Or those soft lips.
I heard soft snoring beside me; my dining companion had nodded off. Sid noticed, and when he finished his story, he gently cued Alaric that a shift to after-dinner entertainment was in order.
The drowsy matron and several others retired for the evening as Alaric challenged Sid to a board game with dice and markers. I wondered if I should leave as well, as it appeared that Alaric wanted a quiet evening with his distinguished guest. I hovered uncertainly, until Sid called out to me.
“Kitharede! I long to hear music. Will you indulge us?”
Alaric and the few nobles remaining straightened up. One of the nobles, his lips working in worry, leaned in to Sid. “It is not the habit of the court to have music for entertainment. Music’s place is in the worship of God.”
Sid gestured to a servant. “Go to my lady Nimia’s quarters and fetch her cithara.” He turned then to the noble. “Does your king rule over you because he was chosen by God?”
The man nodded.
“Then by being in the presence of your king, are you not therefore closer to God as well?”
The man didn’t seem to like where this was going.
“So! Music played to honor your king is music played to honor God. I do not think God would have brought such a talented kitharede as my lady Nimia to this court, if not to have her play for your king.”
That plainly was not why I was here, but the noble seemed unwilling to further challenge Alaric’s guest. I looked for Alaric’s reaction, and caught his gaze sliding away from me, a hint of mischief pulling at his lips.
Hmm.
Perhaps he was tired of being virtuous.
My cithara arrived, and Sid had me take a seat near the table and chairs where he and Alaric had settled in to play their game. I was well in Alaric’s line of sight; the king could look at me without appearing to do so.
Clever Sid—although I doubt he had any notion of seduction in mind. Sympathy and familiarity were all he sought for me.
