He looked at her, wondering how much to tell her. He was tired and sore, and didn’t want to get caught in a long conversation, he decided. He wouldn’t tell her the story of Ophiuchus stepping out of the tapestry at the cathedral.
“I had a vision that made me think of the name,” Marco answered, then ate the bite of food that she extended towards his mouth on a fork.
“If you were in the underworld, you may have seen my mother,” she speculated as she offered him another bite.
“A nun I met on the pilgrimage said that all souls go through the underworld,” Marco commented. “Perhaps I did see her.”
“They say she is very beautiful,” Kaitelyn sighed.
“Who? Ophiuchus?” Marco asked, wondering how the girl had read his mind to know he was thinking about the spirit, who was a dazzlingly beautiful figure.
“I thought they called her Mirra?” the girl’s statement was a question.
“Oh,” Marco adjusted. Kaitelyn was speaking of the woman in Barcelon, the one he was supposed to be engaged to; like the servant girl, he had heard numerous people gush about her flawless features. “I do not know, not yet. When the time comes, I will regain my memories, and then I will know her.”
“You are a handsome boy, and you will marry a beautiful woman. You are noble and famous and powerful; God has given you a great deal,” the girl told him as she absent-mindedly placed another bite of food in his mouth. He watched as she speared another bite of his potatoes and lifted it to her own mouth, and started to eat.
“Yet I cannot tell you any of those things about myself,” Marco responded. “I know you better than I know the woman they say I am going to marry.”
She looked at him, still unaware that she was eating his meal. “That is a strange situation,” she admitted.
“This afternoon, you asked if I could make a boy love you,” Marco told her, and he watched her immediately start to blush. “What boy did you have in mind?”
“Stop it!” she cried as she offered a bite of meat to Marco, then held another in front of her own mouth.
“You did say that, didn’t you?” he prodded. There was something tickling his brain, something that told him that he could make a boy love her. It was some powerful memory, driven perhaps by the talk of those who knew his past, who spoke of his former accomplishments, that was rising up into his awareness.
“As if I thought you would listen to me!” she answered. “Isn’t that just like a boy – listening when you don’t expect him to! I’ll bet you didn’t listen to your lady love a dozen times a day when she talked to you though, did you?
“He’s a shepherd who lives with his family on the next mountain over,” she answered when she finished venting her spleen. “He’s a nice boy, and friendly too, but he never says more than hello or something simple when I see him,” she told Marco.
“Maybe he’s shy?” Marco asked, as he received a bite of food.
“Shy? Why would he be shy? He’s a free person, and I’m still indentured for two more years,” Kaitelyn dismissed his question.
“If he’s a shepherd, he may not spend a lot of time around people, so he may be shy when he does get to see folks. Plus, you’re a pretty girl. Maybe he’s afraid of you.” Marco suggested.
“Afraid of me?” Kaitelyn’s voice squeaked in indignant rejection of the idea.
“It could be possible,” Marco suggested, as it was Kaitelyn’s turn to have a bite of the meal. “Just keep an eye on him and think about it,” he suggested. He knew that there was something he could do, but the full realization of the idea refused to emerge into his consciousness.
“Are you good with horses?” the girl suddenly switched topics, though Marco didn’t know whether that meant she was dismissing his idea or simply needed more time to consider it.
“I don’t know,” Marco answered. “I haven’t ridden any since I started the pilgrimage. Why?”
“The innkeeper and the nobles decided to give you two of the horses that the robbers had,” Kaitelyn told him. “The robbers don’t need them anymore.”
“I better get back to the kitchen,” she said and stood up. “You ate quite a bit,” she said as she looked down at the tray she held. “Good night, my lord,” she told him, and then left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
Marco laid back and closed his eyes, less hungry than before, and thought about the conversation. He had clearly been an alchemist in the past; he had known it somehow despite the loss of memories, and the conversations with the Barcelonans had confirmed it. He wondered if he truly knew a way to make the boy love Kaitelyn, and then he wondered if it was fair to use alchemy to change the orientation of another person’s feeling. He wouldn’t want to find out that he was in love with someone just because they had given him a potion, he thought.
When he awoke the next morning his shoulder was still sore, but he felt the compulsion of the geas pressing him to get underway. By the time Kaitelyn entered his room with a tray of breakfast foods, he was already dressed and arranging his belongings over his healthy shoulder to carry them along with him.
“What are you doing, Lord Marco?” she asked.
“What’s the name of the shepherd you’re interested in?” Marco replied.
“He’s Haran," she replied with a piercing look at him. “Why do you ask?”
“Just so I know,” Marco answered, then changed the subject. “Would you go ask that my horses be prepared at the stables for my departure?”
“You can’t mean to leave so soon!” the girl cried. “You’re still injured.”
“I have to go; the spirit has told me to hurry,” he said as he moved towards the door, and ushered her out.
And so it was that within an hour, he was atop a horse, heading east through the high mountains on his way to Barcelon. The party of nobles was still at the inn, packing up for their own departure as they prepared to head west on their pilgrimage.
As Marco rode atop his new horse not much later, he noticed a shepherd boy driving his flock across the pilgrims’ way, having trouble maintaining control of his animals as the stream of pilgrim traffic disrupted his efforts. Marco rode his horse into position to block the pilgrims from advancing down the road, drawing angry comments. He ignored the comments and slipped off his horse, to help the shepherd boy keep the flock together and moving up the trail towards the higher pastures in the mountains.
“Thank you, my lord,” the shepherd told Marco. “They don’t like changing locations in the first place, and when there’s all this traffic to distract them, it’s just that much worse.”
“Is your name Haran?” Marco asked the lad on a whim. He was a nice-looking boy, and his demeanor was friendly.
“Sir, how did you know that?” the shepherd asked in astonishment.
“I had a vision, a dream last night,” Marco began to improvise a story, surprised that such an approach would occur to him. “I dreamed that a shepherd named Haran met a girl named Kaitelyn, and they were married.”
“I know a girl named Kaitelyn!” Haran cried in affirmation of the vision.
“Is she a pretty girl, with a nice smile and a pair of pretty green eyes?” Marco asked.
“She is, and she’s nice too. She’s far above me though, my lord,” the boy spoke.
Marco moved his horse to the side, making it easier for the pilgrimage traffic to resume travel along the road as the two stood and talked.
“My vision tells me that if you were to go speak to her, to tell her that she is attractive, that she would find you to be attractive too,” Marco told the boy. “Good luck with the flock,” he said as he carefully climbed back up into the saddle. “And good luck with the girl. She’ll be good for you,” he said, and then he was on his way, headed east once again.
The horse was a mixed blessing, he thought for the first few days of the trip, as his legs ached with saddle soreness. Yet he made good time, traveling faster than he would have on foot as he switched from one mount to the other, and he
found the horses to be pleasant companions.
He rode the horses for long days, but let the animals graze as often as possible, and spent more money feeding his horses at stables than he spent on food for himself, as his small collection of coins dwindled away. Just a few days after leaving the inn where he hoped Kaitelyn and Haran had had a conversation, he began to approach the end of the mountains, according to the reports he received from the numerous other travelers he passed, a stream of travel that was growing increasingly heavy as the weather warmed and the pilgrimage became easier.
On one particular day, as the sun set behind him, he approached an oncoming group of riders, an extraordinarily beautiful woman, and three men who were accompanying her on the road. Despite his manners, Marco found himself staring at the lady’s stunning appearance, until one of the men with her, a very, very large man, scowled at Marco to warn him away.
Marco started to turn his face, but as he did, the woman glanced at him, then her eyes widened, and in just a split second Marco saw her face grow dramatically pale.
“Marco? Marco!” she uttered softly, then said louder. “It’s Marco!” she screamed, and drove her horse towards him with an urgent jerk of her reins and a kick of her heels.
Chapter 5 – The Most Beautiful Woman
And so it was that Marco was reunited with the woman he was engaged to.
“Marco, where have you been? Are you okay?” Mirra asked as she leaned out of her saddle and startled him by embracing him in a tight, fervent hug.
After a moment of shock, Marco placed his arms around her, his injured shoulder healed enough to allow him to do so.
“You’re Mirra?” he tentatively asked, his cheek pressed against hers.
“Yes, I’m Mirra! Of course I’m Mirra! Are you alright?” she asked as she moved to stare at his face.
“I’ve lost my memories,” Marco tried to explain. She was beautiful. Even as close together as they were, he could see no flaws in her appearance, nothing hidden by cosmetics. “I was at an inn, and met several nobles on pilgrimage. They recognized me, and told me about you,” he told her. “They were right; you are the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said.
Mirra blushed faintly. “Come with us Marco. We’ll go up to the castle and be home in fifteen minutes. We’ll help you,” she said with a nod of her head towards a side road.
“I suppose I could go to spend the night there,” he agreed. “But I’ll have to leave in the morning to go to Barcelon,” he told her.
“Is it that mermaid? Pesino? Are you going to go see her again?” there was a suspicious look in her eyes. “The one you wrote that letter about?”
“Mermaid?” Marco asked in astonishment.
“Shall we go to the castle, my lady?” the large man asked, hinting at his expectation that they would go; he didn’t look pleased with the meeting with Marco.
“Yes Perago, if our lord is ready. Shall we go to the castle, Marco?” she replied as she looked from the steward to Marco.
The steward and his attendants started up the side road, and Mirra waited for Marco to pull his horse around. The two rode together.
“What’s happened to you, Marco?” Mirra asked. “I never thought you’d be like this when we sent you to see the Lady Folence.”
“Folence? From the temple? You sent me to her? That’s where I have to go now,” Marco said. They came to a stop as the staff opened the gate. “Several weeks ago I found myself on Station Island, and the only thing I knew was that I had to go to Barcelon to see the Lady Folence. Ever since then I’ve been traveling towards Barcelon, only now I have to go to the Isle of Ophiuchus to see Folence.”
They were riding forward again through the forest, on a narrow road.
“I don’t know where I was before I was on Station Island. I don’t know what I was doing, or how I got there. The only things I know are what other folks have told me. I’m sorry that I can’t tell you more, my lady,” Marco told the beautiful woman beside him.
“Look at that!” he said suddenly as they came around a curve in the road and saw the castle of Sant Jeroni. “You say that we live here?”
“Lord Marco!” a large woman came out of the kitchen as he and Mirra and Perago entered the hall of the large castle minutes later. The woman started to give him a smothering hug, then suddenly caught herself and backed up to curtsy. “Forgive me, my lord,” she said bashfully.
Marco looked at Mirra, who silently mouthed the name “Sweetness” to Marco.
“Sweetness,” Marco said the word tentatively, thinking it strange to talk to a stranger so familiarly, “Stand up please, there’s no harm in a hug.”
The woman straightened up and smiled. “I wish I’d known you were coming; we’d have prepared a special meal for tonight! But I’ll start planning a grand feast for tomorrow,” she told him earnestly.
“I’m afraid I’ll be leaving tomorrow, Sweetness,” Marco told her, regretful to see the crestfallen face she instantly displayed. “But I’ll be back again someday,” he tried to soften the blow.
“Shall we go sit down and recover from the journey, my lord?” Mirra asked with a touch of formality.
“Would you prefer to have an attendant with you, my lady?” Perago immediately asked.
Marco looked at the man, wondering what would prompt him to try to insert someone into the conversation between Mirra and himself.
“No Perago, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure we’ll be a while with much to discuss. I’ll call you if I need anything,” she said with a kind smile to the steward, as she placed a reassuring hand on his arm.
“Shall we, my lord?” she indicated a direction, and together the two walked down a hall, then stepped into a studious looking room, with a desk and book cases, and Mirra shut the door. She crossed the room to a cabinet, where she quickly pulled out a folded paper, and walked over to hand the paper to Marco.
“You were badly injured here last autumn, and we sent you to Barcelon with my brother Glaze,” Mirra said. “Then you were gone, both of you. After a few weeks, this letter arrived. Then there was nothing further, until early in the spring the Duke Siplin received a letter from his cousin, the Duchess Kiploon of Canalport.
“Duchess Kiploon reported that you were in the city, that you were married to a lovely lady named Pesino, and then you disappeared on a quest to fight an invincible monster. And there was no more news of you until we saw you on the road just now,” Mirra’s voice was quiet as she finished her report. She walked around the room lighting the lanterns as Marco read the letter – a letter he had written in the Lion City.
The story astonished him – the tale of the mermaids, Mirra’s brother and the other girl held hostage, the confession of lustful thoughts.
“Was this Pesino the mermaid the same Pesino I was married to in Canalport?” Marco asked weakly.
“I have no way of knowing, Marco. And you claim that you don’t remember,” Mirra answered.
“I might as well tell you, I’ve just returned from Barcelon, where I’ve been looking for a suitable home that Sybele and I can move in to. I assume you’ll want to bring your new bride here to live, when you figure out who she is and where you left her,” there was a touch of asperity in Mirra’s voice, along with a deep sadness.
“My lady Mirra, don’t do that. You don’t have to leave this place. You’ve lived her for all these months, and where ever I’ve been,” he thought about what he had been told about bits and pieces of his journey. It would be an astonishing tale when he learned it, he was sure. “Where ever I’ve been,” he repeated, “if you’ve been here, then this is more your home than mine. Stay. Stay and be comfortable and relax. I’m leaving tomorrow, and there may be another long journey ahead of me, so you shouldn’t rush out of here.”
“Your daughter, Sybele, is she well?” he asked. “May I see her?”
“Certainly, Marco. I’ll go get her for you,” Mirra said in a happier voice. She slipped out of the room, and was gone.
Moments later Perago the steward slipped into the room. “I just want to tell you my lord, that the Lady Mirra is greatly beloved by the whole staff here on the estate, and the peasants in the villages as well. If anyone were to think that you have treated her poorly in any way, or were to make her leave this place, I fear the outcome,” he told Marco. He didn’t speak threateningly, but in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Since you’re going to leave tomorrow, we’ll all stay calm and just continue to go on taking care of the estate and the lady. If I were you, I wouldn’t show up with this new wife you’ve found for yourself,” he reached out and lightly stroked the golden torq around Marco’s neck, then left without excusing himself.
Marco stared at the door, shocked by the conversation, the implied threat from someone who was supposed to be his own servant. He turned and looked out the window, and wondered what his life had been like, what it had been like to know and love Mirra and be happy with her.
There was a sound behind him, and Mirra came in holding a two-year old girl, who was shy and unwilling to allow Marco to hold her. “I’m sorry, it’s just been too long for her to remember you,” Mirra tried to apologize and explain.
“Were you in love with me?” Marco asked suddenly. He thought of the babbling letter he had written, and he wondered if he could have ever deserved to be loved by someone who was not only so beautiful, but seemed to be so kind that she was loved by everyone who met her.
“I still am, Marco,” she said softly. “I’m in love with the boy who was so thoughtful and kind and friendly, who was willing to work so hard to help others, and was brave. Not to mention funny, and full of surprises. I hope that boy will come back soon,” she told him.
“I hope so too,” he said as he stared at her, standing holding the baby.
There was a knock at the door. “Sweetness says that dinner is ready,” Perago reported as he opened the door and looked in.
The two of them ate a quiet dinner together, as a nurse took Sybele away. Marco wondered what he could say, what would be of interest to Mirra.
Scarlet From Gold (Book 3) Page 7
