by Lisa Shea
He waited for the three men to enter the andron, and then he resolutely stepped through and closed the door behind them.
I scampered down the hallway. Usually Mary would have been allowed in. She was only a servant, after all, and her presence was barely counted. But with her being sick, I’d have to resort to other options to get my news.
Up the long flight of sun-dried brick stairs to the roof, then a quiet tiptoe across the ceilings of the bedrooms and storage room. I finally reached the corner of the far side. The rope I’d tied there a month ago was still securely fastened to a support beam. Slowly, slowly, I lowered myself down it, until I rested on a thin ledge beside the andron window.
The evening’s shadows were playing across the walls, and I hoped they would hide my form. I carefully peered in.
From across the room, Robert was staring right at me.
I bit down my yelp of surprise and swung away from the window. My heart hammered against my ribs as I waited for him to call out a warning – to alert the other men that their private conversation was being overheard by an unworthy woman.
No such call came.
Finally I cautiously poked my head into the open frame again.
Robert was nodding to my father, listening, giving no sign that he had seen me. I saw now that others had joined them. Ramsey was there, along with a pair of other nobles. One had a scar across his face, while the other sported pale blue eyes. There was also a man with thinning grey hair. I knew they were all officials of importance within the government.
My heart swelled with pride that my father was the man chosen to host such an important meeting.
My father was speaking now. “Where most of our fellow Greeks gave in to the demands of Darius, here in Athens we put the ambassadors on trial. We judged them fairly, found them guilty, and executed them.”
Ramsey snorted and glared at Robert. “While you Spartans simply tossed them into a pit without any discussion at all.”
The Spartan to Robert’s right kept his gaze even. “We both made the same statement. It matters not what meaningless acts we took before then.”
Robert glanced over. “Makarios is right. What matters now is that we band together. It is imperative we join forces before the Persians arrive to begin their invasion. Otherwise nothing will be left. They will scorch the earth.”
The grey-haired man shook his head. “But you saw how our citizens eyed you as you walked through our beautiful city. That was their reaction to a mere three soldiers within a city of a hundred thousand.” He took a long drink of wine. “Imagine what will happen when there are legions of troops. When mothers are asked to send their beloved sons out in your rough company.”
Makarios’s eyes darkened. His voice was sharp. “Imagine what those frail mothers will shout when the Persians overrun your walls and turn them all into elegant pincushions.”
Robert’s gaze was shadowed. “My friend is right. This is not a time for half action. The Persians will come, two hundred thousand strong, into Thermopylae and Artemisium. We must make them pay dearly for every step they take.”
Ramsey’s mouth folded into a petulant frown. “Surely, soldier, you mean we must defeat them.”
Robert’s face went still. “We will hold our homeland, in the end. But many brave men will die. Many precious places, like Athens, will be taken and then recaptured.” His eyes flicked to the window. “Precious lives need to be cherished and protected, so that when we rise again, we have the strength we need to rebuild and prosper.”
Ramsey took up his kylix drinking cup with both hands, holding the wide saucer beneath his fat face and drinking down several mouthfuls of wine. “This is all nonsense. The Persians are all bluster. They will send fresh ambassadors. We will negotiate terms which are fair to all. All they care about are fatted calves and gold bracelets.”
Robert shook his head. “The Persians will send an invading force, hundreds of thousands strong. The few, brave Spartans who stand against them will paint the soil red with their own blood. All to hold the invaders in check long enough for others to seek safety.”
Ramsey barked a laugh. “And this is what you want us to agree to? Sheer folly. None will listen to you.” He waved a hand in the air. “None will follow you or that crazy King Leonidas you serve.” His voice grew harsh. “You are a heathen, after all. You are not one of us.”
Robert tilted his head to one side, his gaze sharpening. “Not one of you. If I were one of you, then would your people listen?”
Ramsey practically choked on his wine. “What, you, become a citizen of Athens? You would have to marry a local woman for any to believe your allegiance.” He gesticulated toward the street. “And what woman would have you? What civilized, educated Athenian woman would allow a brute such as you to touch her?” His voice became the rake of metal across brick. “To share her bed with you?” He shuddered at the thought.
Robert’s gaze flicked, ever so faintly, toward the window.
Suddenly I knew. I knew that every word he said was true. The Persians would swarm in like seagulls after a fishing vessel – and there would be no end to them. All of our poets and playwrights would be no match for those sharp swords. We could lose not only our homes and temples but our very lives. Our culture which we treasured above all else.
I hauled myself up on the rope, swung up my legs, and sat on the ledge of the window. My voice was low but clear. “I will. I will take him as my husband.”
All eyes spun to me in disbelieving shock. My father launched to his feet. “Elissa! You cannot be here!”
I gave a wry smile. “And yet I am. When the Persians invade, are you going to reprimand them and tell them that they should also not be here?”
His face burnished red, and he strode over to me. “This is a man’s discussion. You have no part in it!”
I swept past him to stand at the center of the room. “And yet it will be the women most impacted by what you talk about here. We will be the ones raped and killed. Surely we deserve a say in our own future?”
Ramsey’s voice was sharp. “You? A woman? You cannot make decisions for yourself. We men will do what is best.”
I snorted. “You would run and hide your head in the sand. You would pretend that all of this will go away. When we need a man who will stand strong. Who will do what it takes to keep us safe from harm for as long as possible.”
I strode to stand before Robert, and my throat grew tight.
It was him.
The man from my dreams. The one from my visions. He had saved me from a burning house. He had joined my tribe to take on suffering and despair which was not his. Time after time, he could easily have fled. Instead, he remained by my side, loyal and strong.
My eyes welled, and I put out my hands. “I will take this man, and I will thank the gods for every day we have together. If in the end we have to flee Athens, then we will do so together, side by side, saving as many as we can. And if the fates are kind, someday we will return and rebuild, stronger than ever.”
He took my hands in his, and I could see the breath leave his lips.
Ramsey’s voice rose high. “But I had plans to –”
My father shot him a look, and he bit that off.
I paled. Would that have been my path in life, had Robert not come for me?
My father turned to me, his face creased with worry. “Are you sure, my dove? If you take this path, there will be many who ostracize you. Who harass you for your choice.”
Certainty grew within me. “When the Persians turn to descend on our beloved Athens, those same voices will cry out for our help. For the protection of his sword and sure arm. When we are in the wilderness with the bandits and wild animals, they will clamor to be a part of our camp. To be sheltered by our protection.”
Makarios stood up alongside his friend and eyed me appraisingly. “She is not as lean and fit as our Spartan women are, but she does not seem as limp and weak as many of the women here. She may yet give you fine sons and daugh
ters. Children of strength and honor.”
Robert’s eyes shone. His hands squeezed mine. “If we are blessed with that much time together, to raise children, then I will count myself the luckiest man in the world.”
I saw the truth of it in his eyes.
My father looked between me and Robert, and at last he nodded. “It may be the only way we can sway our citizens,” he agreed. “If you are both sure, then I will see it done.” He turned his head. “Wife! Come in here!”
There were footsteps, and my stepmother tentatively poked her head into the forbidden room. “Have you called me?”
My father waved a hand from me to Robert. “These two are to be married.”
My stepmother’s eyes rolled back into her skull. She fainted into a white linen heap on the tile floor.
A wry chuckle emerged from my father’s lips. He looked over at the three Spartans. “You see this will not be an easy process.”
Robert’s hand closed over mine. “However hard it is, whatever it takes, I shall see it done.”
I breathed in the rich smell of rosemary, and my heart felt more full than it ever had before.
There was a sparkle of light.
Robert’s strong hands held mine. “Stay with me.”
I gave him a soft smile. “Always.”
The world spun …
*
Anna, Sofia, and Mary stared at me open-mouthed across the table. Their auburn, red, and blonde hair could not have been more different from one another, but their looks of incredulous shock matched perfectly.
Anna found her voice first. “You did what!?”
“Shhhh,” I cautioned her, looking around the party. I had little need to worry. All around us were women in long, beautifully draped gowns in ruby red, sapphire blue, and emerald green. There were ruffs around the neck or golden embroidery at the seams. The men wore perfectly tailored tunics over tight leggings.
Through the open windows wafted brisk sea breezes, and beyond I could glimpse the beauty of the Barcelona coastline stretching as far as the eye could see.
The guitarists began another song, the dance floor was filled, and we pulled our heads even closer to each other.
My voice was tight. “I had to tell the priest about my visions,” I insisted. “I don’t know where he heard about them. My stepmother, perhaps. He asked me directly if I had had any dreams involving pagan gods. And there was that dream when I was in ancient Cairo. When I saw the statues of the three goddesses. Hathor, the goddess of birth. Nephthys, goddess of death. And Isis, goddess of rebirth.”
Mary’s elfin face was pale with concern. “What did Father de Villena say?”
I glanced down at my elegant cut-glass goblet of vinho verde wine. “He drilled me about every detail I could remember. And then he asked about my other dreams.”
Sofia nervously looked to Anna, wringing a handkerchief in her thin grasp. “Did you tell him you didn’t recall your other dreams?”
My glass twisted around and around on the table beneath my shaking hands. “He would have known if I lied. I told him about the dream where I first met Robert. Where we talked beneath the statue of the Greek fates. The Moirai. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos. How they watched over man from birth to death.”
Anna swallowed. “Oh, Elizabeth, you shouldn’t have!”
I smoothed down my long, dark blue dress, settling the folds into place. “There was nothing else I could do. I told him they were just dreams. Just wild imaginings from too many minstrel stories and too many fairy tales. I told him that even our most treasured poets such as Gonzalo de Berceo use their imagination to bring stories to life.”
Sofia flinched. “What did he have to say to that?”
I swallowed another gulp of wine. “He pointed out that Gonzalo wrote about the blessed Virgin Mary. He asked if any of my dreams had involved God or our Virgin, rather than the heathen gods of Pompeii.”
Mary looked as if she were barely able to stay upright with nervous fear. “And what did you say?”
I looked down. “I told him I’d seen dreams of what our Spanish Conquistadors would do to the natives in the New World, in the name of Christianity. How they would rape and pillage; how they would bring back gold and riches, all in the name of saving them.”
Sofia let out a soft cry. “You didn’t.”
I nodded my head, my hands clenching. “I am having these dreams for a reason. I don’t know why, yet, but I know they are important. It is our Spanish people who cause the destruction of an entire nation. We steal everything they own! It isn’t right. I have to do my part to stop it.”
My stepmother and father strolled by my table, and my stepmother frowned down at me. “You’ll never get yourself a rich husband by huddling around the table gossiping with your friends,” she scolded. “We certainly paid enough for that dress. Put it to good use! Make sure you are seen by all!”
She grabbed me by the arm and hauled me to my feet.
A deep voice called out, “There she is!”
I spun in shock.
It was Father de Villena, in his long, dark priest’s robes. The high collar came up along his elegant neck. A massive glittering, jeweled cross hung at his chest, with a silver representation of Jesus at its center.
Flanking him were a pair of guards in black. Each had a sword at his side. One face held a jagged scar. The other man scanned the room with pale blue eyes.
Both men’s gazes met mine and lit with cold anticipation.
My stepmother’s panicked screech echoed off the elegant walls as she huddled back against my father.
Father de Villena strode across the room toward me, his progress sweeping aside all others as if he were a wildfire scorching a field of dried wheat. He came to a stop immediately in front of me.
His voice seethed with satisfaction.
“My dearest Elizabeth. Please come with me. It appears the Court of the High Inquisition would like to speak with you.”
19 – Spain Destiny
I leaned against the sturdy mahogany table for support. Silence had blanketed the large hall like the heaviest of tapestries. The guitarists stared in shock. My stepmother and father, resplendent in their rich fabrics and gold embroidery, could not find words. Mary, Anna, and Sofia, as beautiful as summer butterflies, sat frozen alongside me.
But it was Father de Villena who had my full attention.
His grey hair and stern face were wrapped within his long, black priest’s robe with its high collar. A large, jeweled cross hung prominently at his chest, featuring an elegant representation of Jesus in finest silver.
Flanking him on either side were a pair of guards. One had a scarred face. The other stared at me with pale blue eyes. Both had swords at their hips, and both hands twitched as if seeking an excuse to use them.
A glittering smile lit Father de Villena’s face. “Maybe I did not make myself clear, Señorita Elizabeth Luciani. It is the Tribunal of the Holy Office of the Inquisition which has demanded your presence. You will come with us. Now.”
My father lurched into action, his face pale. “We are good Catholics,” he insisted. “The Inquisition is about weeding out the conversos. The Jews who claimed to become Catholics to avoid being expelled from Spain. But I swear to you, we were never Jewish. Our family has always been Catholic.”
Father de Villena’s gaze skewered him. “The Inquisition is not solely about rooting out the conversos. It is also larger than the task of ferreting out their darker brethren, the once-Muslim Moriscos. We are well aware of the threat that these pretenders pose to the Truth Faith.” His face darkened. “But even amongst those who are wholly Catholic, there is still evil present.”
My stepmother’s voice was shrill. “I swear to you, my stepdaughter is pure! She has not been violated by any man or lured into the sin of bigamy. Your court is just and right to punish those greedy older men. The sick men who seduce innocent girls into an impure bed with false promises of proper marriage.”
Her face fl
ushed. “And you are equally lauded for stopping the pedophiles who prey on young boys. I have lit many candles to support your quest for justice!”
Father de Villena’s gaze now twinkled with a hint of amusement. “Oh, I have no doubt that your stepdaughter, Elizabeth, is chaste. She is not guilty of any crime of the flesh.”
Sarah blinked in surprise, and then her mouth fell open in understanding. The words came out in a heated rush.
“But what I told you was said under the Seal of the Confessional! You cannot divulge anything I shared with you!”
His teeth spread wide, the mouth of a shark preparing for his feast. “Fare well, Señora Luciani. You and your husband may rest assured that your daughter is now in the hands of God.”
The thought of running flashed through my mind. Of diving into the crowded room of nobility and striving to shake off my captors. But I had a sense that that would not get me far. To run would only seal my guilt. It would prove that I was an infidel who deserved whatever harsh punishment the Inquisition brought down on me.
With growing resolve I stood up tall, meeting Father de Villena’s eyes with calm assurance. “I will go with you, Father, for I have nothing to hide. I have faith that, once the full tribunal hears my words, they will find me innocent of any crime.”
A flurry of whispered conversation followed me as I strode across the parquet floor, flanked by the two guards. I glanced down at my elegant sapphire-blue dress as we descended the long marble staircase. Had my stepmother’s vanity caused some part of this situation? It was well known that the Inquisition tended to target richer families.
I clenched my fists as we stepped out into the dark summer night. The Inquisition was almost an up-ending of the normal inequities of justice. In most courts, the rich got away scot-free because they could buy their way out of trouble or easily pay off the fines. But in the Inquisition, the court’s sole source of funds came with the goods they confiscated from the guilty. Somehow the end result was that the poor were rarely bothered for any sins of faith, while those with more lands and assets were relentlessly pursued.
