The Crystal Crux: Blue Grotto

by Allen Werner

  The crowds of commoners packing the alleys and side streets were thick everywhere they went. There was much nodding, waving and cheering. Small children threw flowers with stems, women held up flags on sticks and men tipped their caps. The city was immaculate, clean and crisp, the whites white, the blues blue; everything fresh and scented. The masses remained well-behaved, warm and welcoming. Nowhere lay the abject symbols of squalor and decadence, the cries of dissent and hatred, course foul aromas plaguing most metropolitan cities.

  Anthea, of course, had no knowledge of Gherardus Fabbro preparations for this event. The Lord Commander had directed that the parade route be predetermined, policed and sanitized. The condition the Manikos family found it in was not typical of a normal day. It was temporary. Everyone had been warned to be on their best behavior. If anything went amiss or caused displeasure, heads would surely roll.

  Two hours later, still on the sleeve of her handsome chaperon, attentive to his direction and speak, Anthea Manikos finally caught sight of the massive wall surrounding the royal palace. It was ten-feet high, running in both directions further than the eye could see. The party approached the gate house and turned momentarily to bid goodbyes to a few well-wishers who had walked the whole way. Most of the aristocrats had dissipated by this point, returning to their homes. The dancers and entertainers were already dashing around the backside of the palace where they would enter the grounds through the servant doors. There were more preparations to be done. Tonight, there would be a grand feast, a bacchanalia before the ceremony. It was also planned that there would be an even greater feast the following day, immediately after the event.

  Several notable lords and ladies who had received personal invitations to attend the blessed occasion, entered through the Judas gate with them. These royals kindly bowed and headed to their rooms in the palace itself. The royal guard had likewise been thinned at this point, only a handful instructed to attend the rest of the way.

  Gherardus and Bergus had other plans for Nikitas and Anthea. They led their special guests another way, through a barrel-vaulted corridor that echoed as they walked inside of it. It eventually opened to sunlight and a heavenly scented arboretum. This concentrated, aromatic garden went on for another forty paces until they reached the patio. The white marbled patio was enormous, covered with chairs, benches and table and overlooking the palace grounds. Anthea felt her jaw drop. She released Bergus’ arm and went directly to the railing, high above the scene.

  It was like standing on the side of a mountain. The palace loomed up before her, all aglow and beckoning. She, however, found her eyes going down into the vast acreage of the valley beneath her. Anthea had been in several gardens in Greece, beautiful lush gardens filled with all of nature’s wonders. This, however, was without question the most magnificent, artistic landscape Anthea Manikos had ever witnessed. Acres and acres of meticulously maintained lawn, sectioned into enormous rectangular beds by white stony paths and walls of waist-high hedges. Each plot was uniquely fashioned, containing various forms of tall statuary, colorful flowers, plants and topiary. There were even special copse of fruit trees blossoming in remarkable fashion. Birds flew everywhere. Butterflies and dragonflies danced nearby.

  ‘Home.’

  Gherardus and Bergus were gracious, allowing Anthea all the time she wanted to absorb the spectacle. Then they stepped down the white-pillared, wide winding stairwell, descending several landings until they were on the ground and in the first of hundreds of impressive beds. Religiously they stayed true to the stony path.

  A burbling fountain with water jetting nearly twenty feet in the air, rained droplets on an oval pattern around the florid base which reflected sunlight creating a miniature rainbow. A fawn poked its nervous head out from behind a hedge and disappeared. A clean, polite gardener down on his knees, rose quickly, tipped his cap and waited motionless as they moved by him.

  The nearest topiary was fashioned in the form of a voluptuous, bare-breasted woman, her carnal pose extremely suggestive, one leg bent outward to reveal what lay inside. There were six more figurines such as this lined up behind it, all trimmed in a similar manner. And then Anthea spotted the terminus of the décor and was grateful they weren’t headed that way. A god-like man, larger than all the females, stood nude on a pedestal, a bare female form scaling his legs, her mouth open and near but not quite reaching his erection.

  Anthea flushed red and turned her head away. She couldn’t believe such a thing would be displayed in a public place. She tried to turn elsewhere but found herself coming to face similar pieces of artwork. The entire garden was dotted with erotic statuary. It was a nightmare to her sensibilities. It didn’t seem as if anything here was chaste or wholesome. It was all salacious and decadent. The awe she had felt for this garden standing on the patio had staled. ‘I shall never walk these gardens ever again.’

  The more she saw of the orchards, the redder she turned. Embarrassment flooded her virtue. This was far more than her shy sentience was prepared to ingest. Even the floral bases of the various fountains were corrupt for she knew now what to look for, the flowering forms resembling a woman’s vagina, her breasts, sometimes even a man’s penis.

  Bergus sensed her discomfort maturing as they continued. He tugged lightly on her arm to propel her feet to keep moving. What Anthea never did catch in his eye, was the sly, knowing smirk outlining his face the whole time he was saving her. He was picturing her in these positions, in these states of undress.

  When the party finally escaped the gardens, and arrived at the palace itself, they were confronted by sixty rising steps. It seemed mountainous from this vantage point but Anthea didn’t care. She was energized now and without hesitation scaled them as quickly as Bergus was willing to go. The doors at the top of the stairs were closed and colossal, covered in gold, embossed with proud winged gods, humongous stags, and half-naked nymphs, all of them gracing a fruitful sylvan landscape not unlike the one behind and below. The guards standing either side of the doors, parted them for the party and they entered.

  The portico inside was an enormous white marbled hall leading in two directions, north and south. Bergus led Anthea directly east. She released her hold on his arm and leaned tired against the cool wall. In time, she staggered off her feet onto a white marbled bench. Her father came quickly to her side with a reassuring hand falling on her shoulder. He knew how innocent his only child was and how shocking the erotic gardens must have been. He also knew she’d have to grow up quick and become accustomed to the lustful world of adults. Parthenope would be her home from now on and it was not a puritan stronghold.

  The giant doors closed and the sound of their closing echoed up and down the halls for nearly a full minute.

  On the south side of the double doors stood a magnificent statue of Janus, the two-faced god. A man a third of the size of the sculpture wearing an explosively flamboyant robe, stepped out stealthily from behind it. He made no effort to approach the party that had dissolved to five. The man seemed content to merely make his presence known.

  Provost Guidus Salvatore was the first to leave the proceedings now. ‘I’ll see to the contract, adjust the verbiage, and have them drawn up immediately.” He bowed politely to both Nikitas and Anthea before strutting anxiously up the north corridor. There was no mistaking his haste to be elsewhere.

  Gherardus and Bergus looked at one another after acknowledging the advent of the man standing near Janus.

  “My Lady,” Sir Bergus stated, his head tipped politely, blond hair shimmering as clean as the white hall. “It has been an honor and a privilege escorting you today. Rugerius permitting, perhaps we will do this again. I would very much like to hear about your home in Sounion.” The knight flashed what Anthea could only describe as a disturbing grin. It was the first thing he had done this day that had given her pause. Up until now, he had been a perfect gentleman. “Thank the fates,” Bergus continued, “you were named for a goddess. Your allure has put to shame all the statuary in the
garden.”

  ‘Well, that was unimpressive,’ she thought dejectedly, her face resisting the urge to show it. ‘I am named for a flower, damn it, not a goddess.’

  “Thank you, Sir Bergus. I have enjoyed the pleasure of your company.”

  Bergus turned away and clamored over to the secretive man near the doors.

  ‘Handsome man,’ Anthea thought freely, innocently. ‘If Bergus had been Rugerius, I think I would be pleased. If only he hadn’t added that last part. And why the smirk? I don’t understand.’

  Gherardus bowed. “Nikitas. Anthea. Forgive me for one moment. I must speak to this mysterious stranger who has decided to linger in the shadows. He is not all that frightening, believe me. Talento is my youngest son, Rugerius’ brother. I will introduce him to you later. Right now, I believe he has news of Rugerius and his availability.”

  As Gherardus moved away from them, Nikitas pulled closer to his daughter and whispered in her ear. “How are you holding up, daughter?”

  Dismissing her unsupported conclusions concerning the erotic gardens and Bergus’ final peculiar moment, she sighed. “It is wonderful and dreadful. But all new places are, I suppose.” Anthea managed a smile for her father. She scanned her surroundings. The ceiling arched up two-stories above them, rows of roundels and skylights at the very top of the walls allowing generous rays of sunlight to stream in.

  Painted across the ceiling was a purple dragon holding a sparkling scepter in its claws. It tried to be intimidating but Anthea refused to feel it. Exhaustion and hunger, as well as thirst were taking a toll.

  “I am speechless.”

  “Where the fuck is he?” Gherardus whispered loudly, knowing all too well how the halls in the south wing amplified every sound.

  “We still don’t know, father,” Talento responded coolly.

  “This is scandalous, I say.” Gherardus was livid and tired of harnessing it.

  Bergus’ soft brown eyes betrayed nothing about his thoughts concerning his vulgar comrade. He shifted them confidently back and forth between the two men as if he fully expected Rugerius to be unfindable.

  “Have you anything to add, Bergus?” Gherardus finally asked.

  “As I told you earlier, my Lord. He’s whoring. It’s what he does when he is bored. I don’t know where he is whoring or with whom he is whoring, but we are talking about Rugerius. He could be anywhere. He doesn’t give a damn about the formalities of state and he sure as hell doesn’t give a damn about this arrangement you concocted in his name. He told you as much.” Bergus turned and leered in the direction of Anthea who was gazing up at a ceiling he had long forgotten was even painted. “That sweet young thing has no idea the shit-storm coming her way. Rugerius is really going to open her eyes, and legs.” He tried not to chuckle but he had to. “We can’t shield her from this truth for much longer. Rugerius will make no pretensions to comfort her or ease her into this marriage. He’s going to defile her in ways she has never imagined.”

  Gherardus breathed mad through his nose before turning back to his son. “Keep looking Talento. I’ll buy you as much time as I can. I don’t know how I will do it, but I will.” He thought quietly on that for a moment. “I’ll distract them with other things in the palace, with more history, art, keep inventing excuses as long as needs be.”

  Talento Fabbro licked his lips as though his father’s distress tasted good to him and he was hungry for more. “Why not take them up to Suadela. It’s discreet, remote, and far from all the commotion in the rest of the palace. Our distinguished guests from Greece must be famished by now. It’s been hours since they disembarked. I’ll order the kitchen staff to send up some victuals and drink.”

  Restraining his fury, Gherardus nodded and kissed the gold ring on his finger. “By the gods, if Rugerius were not my eldest son, I would…’

  “But he is your eldest son, father,” Talento quickly interjected, “so you will not lose focus on what ifs.”

  Gherardus Fabbro snarled. “Don’t tell me what I will or will not do.” He pressed his index finger, the one with the gold ring, hard into his son’s chest hoping it might hurt him. It did. “You are not your brother, Talento. I can still knock your block off.” The old commander got nose to nose with his wiry son, fist clenched. “I swear you’d be kissing marble right now if not for their presence.” He motioned discreetly toward the Manikos.

  Bergus smirked. Watching father and son argue was evidently amusing to him.

  “Now get your pompous ass out there and find him. Put your beady little ferret eyes to some good use. Get inside all the hostelries and under the sheets and locate that goddamn brother of yours.”

  “I have my sources. My ears and my eyes are everywhere, I assure you. If the bastard is still in the city, he will be found.”

  Gherardus started to pull away.

  “But if he’s not in the city, Father,” Talento continued, “you had better start considering some other options.”

  “Not in the city?” Gherardus ran his hand through his black hair and removed the crown. “What other options are there?”

  “Well, Anthea has never met Rugerius. She has come a long way to be wedded, bedded and deflowered. Does it really matter who the man is that does the deed?”

  Gherardus didn’t like the sound of his son’s reasoning.

  Talento continued reading accurately the distress in his father’s countenance. “There are other men in your Lord’s employ that might welcome the opportunity to mount this fine virgin stallion from Greece.” Talento placed his hand firmly on Bergus’ strong shoulder.

  The knight from Brindisi chortled at this, his lustful eyes leering at Anthea again.

  Gherardus Fabbro did not seem pleased with this suggestion. His aggressive bony finger was quickly tapping Talento in the chest again. “Just find him.”

  Chapter 8 – Bearskin Rugs

  Dallying and deliberate, tarrying as long as was humanly possible, Gherardus Fabbro directed his distinguished guests from Greece through the southern halls of the palace, casually stopping to point out and describe in great detail, the origin and the artists involved in producing nearly every painting and fresco, statue and badge of heraldry they came across. He even drew in close to several impressive mosaics, underscoring the craftsmanship and attention to detail in individual tessera. At times, he went beyond the pale and imagined minor curiosities, creating his own history, anything to stretch time. Trims, frames, everything and anything was applicable.

  Before this exhaustive tour began, when Gherardus first rejoined their company, the Manikos’ were eager to question him. “Where is your son? When will he be joining us?”

  Gherardus Fabbro nodded miserably, his lips repeating the lie. “Rugerius is still indisposed. Affairs of State.”

  As the journey turned epic, the tales Gherardus voiced became tedious and uninteresting. The Manikos’ were bored, tired and hungry and began to suspect that something was amiss. There was no denying the grandeur of the palace. The artwork was simply masterful. In fact, the entire south wing was an architectural wonder; travertine columns, arched ceilings, an array of stained glass windows strategically and creatively lighting every gallery, all most impressive. It was a museum.

  On three separate occasions the party ascended vast marbled stairwells with wide elongated steps. Rubbing the wood like a lover, boasting ad nauseam, Gherardus guaranteed they admired the richly crafted balusters and spindles fashioned from walnut, a rare wood harvested chiefly in the centermost parts of Italy.

  Another curiosity the Manikos’ noted privately but never shared with their guide, was the absence of life. The halls of the south wing were clean, immaculate and strangely silent. As they walked, they encountered no one, not even a servant or guardsman. The gentle ruffle of their silken garb and the light tapping of their soft shoes resonated loud, echoing. It was far and away the loneliest wing of any building the two Greek had ever been in.

  At long last, Gherardus Fabbro approached a thick wooden doo
r with a circular iron handle bolted through the center. He grabbed and lifted the handle, turning it once and pulling. The door eased opened without even the slightest creak. The hinges had evidently been well maintained.

  “This is Suadela,” Gherardus informed. “Suadela is the goddess of romantic persuasion.” The smile he wanted to flash and maintain was murdered upon arrival by the angst still seething through his blood. “Perhaps her spirit will work a miracle and bolster your poor impression of my son. This day has been taxing but I assure you, Rugerius’ affairs will soon be completed. Until then, I would ask you to sit with me, eat and talk some more. Tell me all about Sounion. Talento is arranging for a meal as we speak. We also have a banquet planned for this evening. There will be much rejoicing.”

  The menfolk nodded politely at one another and then stepped aside, allowing Anthea the privilege of braving the grey unknown first. Anthea wasn’t convinced yet if this seclusion and empty din reminded her of a chapel or a mausoleum.

  Suadela wasn’t entirely dark but it was diminished when compared to the blinding brightness their eyes had grown accustomed to in the white marbled corridors of the south wing. The walls of Suadela were fashioned from dark woods. Partial sunlight battling its way through smoky plains of thick colored glass thirty feet up in the eastern and southern walls cut diagonally across the room.

  Nikitas followed close behind his daughter. Gherardus entered last, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him, noting immediately how dark the room was. Gherardus was more than half surprised to find it this way. He glared crossly through the room believing he had provided ample time for servants to have started setting things in order. This was the first thing he had found displeasing about the whole day, well, besides his headstrong son’s unexplained absence. ‘Where are those damn servants? Why this delay?’

  The anchorite hall hadn’t been used in months. Vaguely Gherardus recalled the last being a fairly subdued dinner party for Angelo Borsa, a worthless, do-nothing cousin of some sort on Druda’s side of the family. It wasn’t a fond memory and he chose to forget it.