by L. M. Roth
“Well, Father?” Lucius asked Marcus with an imploring look in his eyes. “Isn’t Antonius all that I said he was?”
Marcus nodded briefly.
“Yes, I’ll warrant that he is truly an innocent. But you must be careful what you share about the Alexandrians with him, Lucius. For they are under persecution in Valerium, and I do not know how long we shall be allowed the freedom to meet here in Lycenium.”
“Yes, I shall be careful,” Lucius agreed. “And, Father, umm..I do see now what you tried to tell me about Decimus. For his manner was completely different tonight from what I am accustomed to. He seemed to mock you and my mother, and that has convinced me that you are telling the truth about him. I am sorry I doubted you.”
And Lucius hung his head and looked carefully at his feet.
“It is alright, my son,” Marcus soothed. “The facts were a shock to Decimus’ own parents, who were reluctant to believe any evil of him.”
Lucius shot a grateful glance at Marcus.
“Yes, I imagine they would have been,” he said. “Which is why it is going to be difficult to persuade Antonius of the truth.”
“No!” Marcus exclaimed. “You must never tell Antonius what his father did! For then he would despise him and Dominio wants us to honor our father and mother, do you remember that? You must promise not to tell Antonius. Have I your word, Lucius?”
Lucius flashed a look of surprise at Marcus, but nodded in agreement.
“Alright, Father,” he said. “I give you my word.”
Chapter XV
Two Brothers
They had always been close, Dag reflected, even before they became brothers through his marriage to Judoc. Through the years a bond had been built that was stronger between them than even to their siblings born of his union with his wife. No one, he thought, would ever be able to take Brenus’ place in Cort’s heart, nor his in his brother’s. But now a wall was being erected between them, inch by inch, day by day.
He blamed Melisande for their estrangement. What was it about her that made him uneasy, he wondered? Brenus told him before his marriage that Melisande was a believer, but if so it wasn’t evident to Dag. During the meeting the village of Leith held weekly she appeared bored and distracted. She never prayed aloud. During the time of sharing and instruction her eye wandered around and rarely rested on the speaker. She sang only half-heartedly the songs they offered to Dominio.
And yet…there was something more, something that eluded him. The more he grew to know Melisande, the more familiar she seemed to him. Where had he met someone like her, for he knew he had not met her before Brenus introduced her to him and Judoc. Cort had commented to him shortly after the marriage that something about her voice seemed familiar to him also. But where could they possibly have met?
Dag had rarely left Eirinia after landing here twenty years before. He made occasional trips to Valerium to visit his old friend Marcus Maximus, but he had not done even that in more than five years. His duties in Leith kept him busy with affairs at home.
During the first few years in Eirinia he had had the assistance of Bimo in teaching the villagers. But Bimo had grown restless and left to go wherever Dominio sent him. Dag heard from him occasionally, for Bimo wrote and waited for an opportunity to send his letters. He only stayed a year or two in each place, and he did not know where his old friend was at present. Dag was looked upon as the leader of the Alexandrians in Eirinia, and the Eirini came from all over the country to seek his council and guidance on matters of the faith.
He had come a long way from the barely literate man who had joined Marcus on his quest so long ago. He had spent many years perfecting the skill of writing a good letter and studying volumes of history and learning. His knowledge of the world had increased along with his vocabulary, and even Marcus had commented on his last visit that few would ever believe that Dag had not learned how to read and write until he was in his mid-twenties. And that it was a ten year old boy who had taught him both…
Cort had taught him, patiently and lovingly, so proud of this man he called his father. Dag wondered at times if Cort ever thought of his real family in Trekur Lende, the family who would have sold him into slavery to the Hoffingi to pay their debts. Did he ever think of them? Did he miss them? Or were Dag and his adopted family in Eirinia enough family for Cort?
At that very moment, Cort’s mind was running in a similar vein of thought. He too wondered why Melisande seemed familiar, as if he had known her in the past. What was it about her voice? Was it the inflection, the accent on certain words? What was it that eluded him about her?
He had been careful to avoid her as much as possible; for it was more than her voice that disturbed Cort. At times, he caught her looking at him in a way that made him uneasy. He would become aware of being studied, and would look up to catch her eyes on him with a light in her deep green eyes that reminded him of a cat stalking its prey; intent, unwavering, and with a look that was almost hungry... She averted her eyes when they encountered his, yet she did this too often for Cort’s comfort.
He thought of his brother, Brenus. Was he happy in his marriage? He seemed to be, for the most part. And yet, there were times when he seemed almost cowed in the presence of Melisande, and he looked at her quickly as if for approval before speaking in the presence of the family. He no longer spoke much during the meeting of the Alexandrians, a fact that did not escape Cort’s notice.
Before the advent of Melisande Brenus had been one of the most vocal of the young men of the village, always quick to offer an insight, speak a word of encouragement, or lift up his voice in praise. But Cort could not recall the last time Brenus had done any of these things. Not before his marriage it seemed…
Cort’s reverie was interrupted by the very subject of his introspection. Brenus burst into the hut with the energy so characteristic of him, which his mother once described as a wind of fury wreaking havoc on all in its wake. He flashed Cort a quick grin that lit up his dark face like a star shining through a thunderstorm.
“Hail, brother!” Brenus exclaimed. “How goes it with you?”
Cort hesitated before answering. Was this the right time to speak frankly to Brenus regarding his bride, and the unease she roused in him?
He decided it was not a good time.
“Hail, brother,” he replied. “I am well. What brings you here from your own hut? If it is Father you seek he is still in the fields, as would I be also, were it not for coming back for water; for the day is long and we are thirsty.”
Cort shot Brenus a look of reproach. Brenus knew well what it meant: he was not in the field with them, and he had not even left for a day’s hunt in the woods. But Melisande had woken with him that morning and implored him to stay with her for a while, and so he had lingered, and the morning sped away…
“Ah, yes, the fields, the fields! It is time for the last harvest, is it not? How industrious you and Father are, Cort!”
Cort bristled and clamped his mouth shut tightly. Only for a moment did he keep his silence. Why not, he thought to himself. After all, someone should say something to Brenus for his own sake.
“Yes, we are industrious, Brenus. You should try indulging in such a pastime yourself sometime. Of course, it would mean tearing yourself away from your wife and that perhaps would be a hardship too great for you to bear at this hour of the day!”
Like a thundercloud erupting in a blue sky did the scowl on the face of Brenus seem. Cort cared not; his brother had been too slack for too long.
“Perhaps you are merely jealous, brother. I do not see a wife warming your nights, now do I?” Brenus jeered.
It had been many years since Cort lost his temper with Brenus, not since the time they had roughhoused in their early teen years and accidentally broken a favorite ornament of Judoc’s, and Brenus had cast the blame for the incident on Cort, although it was he who had actually tripped and landed on top of it. Cort had flown at him and hit him, although fighting was expressly forbidde
n by Dominio and he had always adhered to it.
But the mockery on the face of his brother was too much to be borne, considering how much Cort disliked his bride.
“Jealous? Jealous! Of what, your bride, this woman who sprang into our midst with no history, no family, and no faith? Truly you must be bewitched to even consider taking such a one! I wouldn’t have her if she were the only choice I had. Mark my words: your Melisande has a past that would make you shudder were it made known to you. Why else does she tell you nothing of herself? An honest woman makes haste to prove her good name. Your bride does no such thing!”
The storm erupted and Brenus flew at Cort, knocking him to the ground. Cort was not to be cowed, and rolled with Brenus on the floor, flinging all of his obedience to Dominio to the wind of his brother’s tempest. It was in this fashion that Melisande walked into the room and found them.
She shrieked and flung herself into the melee, getting hit in the cheek for her pains. She moaned and clapped a hand to her face, thereby earning the sympathy of her husband, who sprang to her assistance.
“Now look what you’ve done!” he railed at Cort.
“What I’ve done? How can you be sure I did it? We were both fighting and if she interfered that is no fault of mine.”
And Cort stomped out of the room in disgust, banging the door of the hut behind him.
The evening meal was strained, a fact that did not escape the notice of Dag or Judoc. For they still shared their meals together, despite the fact that Brenus and Melisande had a hut of their own, erected upon their marriage. Judoc wanted the family together for the evening meal, and they observed this ritual daily.
Cort and Brenus were both sullen and refused to speak to one another. And Melisande’s cheek had swollen slightly, but she did not enlighten anyone on the cause of her injury. All three of them sat quietly with downcast eyes, their faces impassive. Dag decided to let them work it out for themselves and did not query any of them.
Maelys, however, seemed possessed of a spirit of mischief and refused to ignore what the rest of the family chose not to see.
“Cort!” she exclaimed in innocent tones. “What a mess your eye is! Why, it is turning black and blue, I swear it is!”
She clucked her tongue and was greeted with a quickly suppressed giggle from Nolwenn, who promptly hid her face in her linen. Maelys was not yet finished in adding to her sister’s dinner entertainment.
“And Melisande,” she crooned. “Whatever happened to your cheek? It is swollen to twice its size and is as red as a beet!”
She looked in mock consternation from one to the other, and shook her head.
“Did you and Cort perhaps try to enter a door at the same time and it fought back and hit you both in the face?”
This remark was the undoing of Nolwenn who ducked her head under the table, from which her laughter erupted like the bubbling of an underground stream. Dirk also seemed to catch the contagion of Nolwenn’s mirth and stifled his chuckles with difficulty, his cheeks distended painfully as he manfully clamped his lips tightly shut to prevent the ensuing hilarity, from which a wheezing sound emanated like the whistle of a kettle that has just come to boil.
Young Brand looked around in all innocence at his siblings, and back to Cort and Melisande.
“Well, I do not see what is so funny,” he said, always the last member of the family to get the joke.
After dinner Cort decided to take a stroll in the woods to calm his spirit and collect his thoughts. He excused himself from the family and headed for the copse behind the village, now shedding the last of its autumn leaves, a brown and withered canopy the only remnant of its previous glory. Even so, the stark beauty of the barren trees took on a mysterious beauty in the soft light of the silvery moon that bathed their branches in a shimmering glow.
As usual, the scent of the trees refreshed him. How he loved the forest! Even as a boy in Trekur Lende he had been most content when walking in the woods, enjoying the redolent aroma of the pines and firs, the smell of leaves trampled underfoot rising up to meet him. Was there any finer perfume in the world?
“Cort.”
He had not heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He turned around and beheld Melisande gazing at him, one hand on the trunk of a tree, the other holding her cloak around her throat to protect it from the chill of the autumn night.
“What do you want,” he asked curtly, not even attempting to soften the tone of his voice.
She smiled weakly and stepped toward him tentatively, like a young fawn venturing out of the safety of the forest and into the open air.
“I know you are angry,” she whispered. “So is Brenus. Yet I can not retire for the night until I have spoken to you.”
Her bright gaze was fixed on his face so avidly that Cort actually felt a momentary qualm of fear. Why did she look at him so? And why did he feel like a rabbit caught in the hunter’s noose when she did so?
Melisande suddenly quickened her pace and came so close to Cort that he could have touched her without extending his arm to its full length. The prospect did not make him comfortable.
“Cort,” she breathed. “Is it true? Do you love me? Brenus said it must be so; do you? For I love you, Cort. I knew as soon as I met you that I made a terrible mistake in marrying Brenus.”
The look of horror in Cort’s face did not deter Melisande. She flung her arms around Cort and drew his head down to her face.
“Oh, Cort, my darling,” she murmured and pulled his lips down to hers.
He was so surprised that he offered no resistance, as he simply couldn’t believe that such a thing was happening between him and his brother’s wife. Melisande tightened her grip on his neck and pressed herself close against him. He came to his senses and pushed her away, wiping his lips in disgust. He turned to walk away from her, and looked straight into the face of his brother.
Brenus looked murderous and clenched his fists so tightly at his sides that even in the dark Cort could see the whites of his knuckles.
“So it’s true,” he spat at Cort. “Melisande told me and I was reluctant to believe her. But now I have seen it with my own eyes!”
He suddenly lunged for Cort, who quickly stepped out of his way, sending Brenus sprawling to the ground.
“Now you have seen what, Brenus? Your wife throw herself at me? For that is all you saw. I’ll have none of her!”
“You lie!” Brenus shouted as he leaped to his feet. “I will kill you, Cort; I swear I will!”
Once again Melisande intervened between them, but Cort flung her away. She did not take such treatment lightly. Her eyes smoldered as she glared at Cort.
“No, you have seen for yourself, Brenus! This is why your brother has been angry since our marriage, for he wanted me for himself!”
Cort stared at her in growing disbelief, and shook his head as though he could not comprehend the words spoken about himself.
“What madness ails you, woman? It was you who forced yourself on me just now, and I who rejected you. Tell the truth or I will wring your faithless neck!”
Melisande drew back as if in fear, but Cort saw no fear in her eyes, only a murderous rage. If she had a weapon in her hand she would use it against me, I swear!
As she did not, Melisande used the only weapon left to her. She shuddered, and then burst into tears, attempting to dry them on the sleeve of her cloak. Brenus sprang to her side.
“There, darling, don’t cry!” he soothed, drawing her into his arms.
“Oh, Brenus, you must believe me, you must! I have always feared your brother, and what he might do if we found ourselves alone; and you see, my fears are well-founded!”
“You lie, woman!”
Cort ran to them and tore Melisande out of his brother’s arms. With a sudden burst of rage he shook her, shook her so hard that her hood fell from her cloak and her curls tumbled down on her shoulders. Brenus leapt at him and swung a fist into his other eye, knocking him to the ground for the second time that day.
“Enough!” Melisande screamed. “Oh, please do not fight on my account!”
Cort scrambled to his feet and covered his eye with his hand. He shot a look of pure contempt at Melisande.
“No, we shall not fight on your account, Melisande. For you are not worth it. A woman who lies, hides her history, and causes strife between brothers is never worth fighting over.”
A slight smile curved the lips of Melisande, but her eyes were icy as she looked at Cort, almost with a silent warning.
He continued his denouncement of her behavior.
“But know this: all is known to Dominio. Though you lie to my brother, He knows all about you. And one day He will reveal it to all that know you. Do not think you have triumphed or scored over me. For the day is coming when your name will be a byword and your memory scorned in all of Eirinia. Then you will have nowhere to call home for no one will take you in or have ought to do with you.”
Melisande glowered at him with the all of the malevolence of a snake about to strike, but Brenus hastened to cut the flow of his words.
“That is enough, Cort!”
Brenus breathed heavily, as though winded by the violent emotion of their fight. He took one last look at his brother, and for a moment a flicker of regret touched his face. Then he straightened and pointed a finger at Cort.
“Be gone, Cort! Take yourself away from here, or I will kill you, whether it damns me in the eyes of Dominio or not. For I will have no one say a word against my wife!”
Cort looked upon the face of his brother with regret in his own eyes. But seeing the determination in his face, he knew that Brenus spoke the truth: he would kill him for the sake of Melisande.
He took one last look at the hut he had called home for so long and bestowed a bow of utter mockery upon his brother and his wife.
“Very well,” he sneered. “I will take leave of Father and Mother and be off from here. But you will live to regret this, Brenus. And to rue the day you ever wed this vixen you were so foolish to take to wife.”
