by L. M. Roth
Seeing her shoulders shaking with her sobs, Dag rushed to her side. He raised her to her feet and gently pulled her hands away from her face. For a moment she refused to look at him, her eyes rooted to the ground at her feet. He placed one finger under her chin, and she at last raised her eyes to his. Her green eyes swam with the tears that Dag could not shed, and the look of utter devastation on Melisande’s face was too much for his father’s heart to bear.
He put one arm around her tenderly and drew her head down to his chest. She hesitated for an instant, as her hatred of Dag warred with the grief she bore for her husband. But grief was stronger, and the tears flowed like a river released from a logjam. Dag stroked her hair, and her sobs came even harder as she sensed the compassion of the man she had hated for so long.
To those looking on, Melisande had the appearance of a little girl clinging to her father. They averted their eyes from her agony, and laid the body of her husband at the door of the hut. Only Cort, Dirk, and Brand remained and waited silently for her storm of weeping to subside.
At last Melisande’s tears were spent. She did not immediately detach herself from Dag, but remained quietly in the circle of his arm, drawing comfort from the great man. He patted her shoulder and she drew back and gazed up into his face. She shot him a questioning gaze as her body gave an involuntary shudder as one last sob escaped from her throat. Finally, she straightened up and took a step back to face her husband’s body.
She moaned and dropped down beside him, placing her hands on his chest, and her tears began to pour all over again. She buried her head on his breast and wept with abandon. In the stillness around them, her weeping was the only sound to be heard.
The attention of the others was suddenly arrested by the sound of running feet and a sharp intake of breath.
“No! Not my Brenus!” wailed Judoc as she beheld the body of her son.
Melisande glanced up at her, and withdrew to allow Judoc her moment. Judoc dropped on him and half-lifting his rigid body, cradled him in her arms as she rocked him back and forth. Her tears were a torrent of scalding bitterness that seemed to have no end to their flow. Over and over she called his name, and kissed his brow with every declaration of it.
Cort could stand it no longer. He wiped a fugitive tear from his own eye, but refused to give in to a further release. Although he grew up in Eirinia, he was a Trekur Lender by birth and inclination: he would not publicly show his grief for the brother he had loved so dearly.
Dirk and Brand had no such reservations, and silent tears cascaded down their cheeks unashamedly. They each took the arm of the other for comfort, and were moved by the abandonment of their mother’s grief. Dag looked on with hollow eyes that bore the expression of one who can not believe the evidence of his own eyes, but said nothing.
Judoc at last ceased her weeping, and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her robe. Cort helped her to her feet, and she clung to his arm for support. Then she remembered Melisande, and went to her with arms opened wide. Melisande went into them and buried her face against Judoc’s shoulder, as her own tears began erupting again. The two women clung together and murmured words that were inaudible to the others who stood patiently waiting nearby.
At last, Cort signaled to his brothers, and they lifted the body of Brenus and bore it into the hut. This action jolted Melisande out of her grief, and she followed them hastily into her home. They laid him on the bed, and she collapsed beside it, crying out his name.
Cort left them abruptly along with Dirk and Brand, but Dag and Judoc remained with their daughter-in-law. When she could cry no longer, Judoc pulled her to her feet.
“Come, Melisande, you shall stay with us tonight,” she crooned softly. “I would not expect you to remain here with your husband’s body.”
Melisande exhaled a sigh of relief, and allowed Judoc to lead her by the hand as she would a small child. She took what she would need for the night and followed Dag and Judoc. As she stood in the door of the hut, she took one last look at Brenus, lying on the bed with that mystifying look of terror on his handsome young face and shook her head slowly in bewilderment.
Maelys and Nolwenn had not joined the others. In their hearts they were frightened that the news would be bad. Dearly they loved their brothers, and the loss of any one of them would be great indeed.
“Do you think he will be alright, Maelys?” Nolwenn whispered to her sister when they heard the men returning.
She stared anxiously into the eyes of her older sister; Nolwenn trusted her opinion and sought it on all matters. Or at least she had before the advent of Melisande, whom Maelys felt had supplanted her in the affections of her younger sister. Maelys had smarted silently and clamped her lips tightly whenever she beheld Nolwenn and Melisande giggling and whispering together.
Who was this Melisande, and why did she not reveal her origins and family history, Maelys wondered often to herself. Like Cort she did not trust her: unlike Cort, she bided her time and kept her eyes open and her mouth shut.
When the door of their own hut burst open to reveal Dag and Judoc supporting a stricken Melisande between them, both of the girls knew the truth at once. Nolwenn immediately burst into sobs, while Maelys attempted to control herself. She was very like her father in her ability to handle whatever life threw her away, and not for the world would she betray her feelings in any way that also betrayed her dignity.
“Oh, Melisande!” Nolwenn cried as she rushed to the side of her sister-in-law. “Let me weep with you, for surely Brenus was the best brother in the world!”
Melisande obliged her by opening her arms to the young girl and holding her close, but Maelys held back and looked on skeptically from under partially closed lids.
Just how sincere is Melisande’s grief for her husband, she wondered silently.
Maelys had never believed her innocent in the part she played in driving Cort away from home. Maelys did not think Cort capable of desiring his brother’s wife, and she silently scorned the tale that Melisande had told Brenus that so infuriated him.
We shall see my lady, how genuine your tears are for Brenus, she thought. And I shall be watching your behavior with my brother Cort, now that you are free of your husband.
Chapter V
The Tuadan
They laid Brenus to rest with the rites of the Alexandrians, beneath the limbs of a willow tree that had been a favorite place of his to read or to dream. In typical Eirini fashion, the wailing of the women was loud and long, not believing it healthy to stifle one’s emotions. No one’s tears were louder than the widow Melisande’s, who threw herself on the hastily made coffin that contained the body of the husband she had known so briefly.
Cort watched impassively, blinking back his own tears as he struggled for composure. His wife Siv linked her arm into his, and his mother Brit stood on his other side, her head resting occasionally on his shoulder in mute empathy for his unspoken grief. His sister Maelys came to stand with them, and kissed the cheek of her sister-in-law and smiled comfortingly at Cort.
Dag stood erect with bowed head through much of the service. At his side stood Judoc, whose weeping was more constrained on this day, having spent her tears in the days before the laying to rest. Nolwenn’s tears streamed down her cheeks, but she did not wail as the other women did. The daughters of Dag Adalbart had too often seen his stoicism not to realize that he preferred they behave calmly even in the midst of tragedy. Nolwenn flashed a look of mute appeal at her father, who rewarded her with a slight smile and nod of his head.
Dirk and Brand stood together behind Dag and Judoc and remembered the sound of Brenus’ laughter and his high spirits. Truly, Dirk had told Brand only the night before, it was a good thing to enjoy life with the abandonment that their brother had. And Brand agreed, although he had not that gift, but must always question the value of everything that presented itself for pleasure.
Dirk marveled that this day of tragedy was so fair and glowing with life. The sky was a cloudless blue, and the b
irds sang sweetly as they clustered around the graceful willow trees that crowned the emerald hill. How could the loveliness of spring walk side by side with sudden death?
At last the rites were over, and the family assembled in the home of Dag for their time of mourning. According to Eirini custom, they must stay together for seven days after the burial, that they might mutually comfort one another and help each other to bear the loss of their loved one. That it might test the patience of some of the Adalbart family members to be confined with Melisande was a truth that Cort knew only too well.
That it was not worse than he anticipated he could only attribute to the tact of Judoc, Cort decided. For him it was too much to expect him to tolerate his sister-in-law’s company that long. Already he saw the eyes of his own wife watch Melisande for any signs of trouble to come. That he surprised the same look in the eyes of his sister Maelys was oddly disturbing. He did not know how much of the affair had been revealed to his siblings, and the thought that his innocent sister should have any inkling of the accusations Melisande had hurled against him made his blood boil in suppressed outrage.
It does not matter that Brenus is dead and I am bound to be kind to her, he thought as he looked at Melisande. Let her just try to start trouble and I will reveal everything about her to my father. I doubt that Melisande will be so warmly welcomed by Judoc when she learns that her mother nearly became Dag’s wife. And that she knew that full well when she came to Eirinia to search for him; and with what intentions for trouble only she knows in her heart.
After the period of mourning, Dag happened to meet Laig on the green of the village square. With a mutual nod of their heads they greeted one another with sudden restraint. Then Laig relented and placed a comforting hand on Dag’s shoulder. Dag did not shrug it off, but permitted it to remain and smiled at Laig.
They both relaxed and strolled in companionable silence. The May morning was cool and refreshing, with the promise of greater warmth later in the day. The scent of the sea was borne on the breeze and Laig breathed it in appreciatively. To Dag, no scent was as intoxicating as that of the woods, but he kept his preference to himself.
Their aimless rambling brought them to the edge of the forest. They both stopped, and cast an apprehensive look at the trees within. Laig had been chewing a straw, and it suddenly fell from his mouth as he gave his full attention to the vista before him. He rubbed a finger across his chin and peered into the woods.
At last he spoke.
“Strange thing, what happened with Brenus,” he ventured at last.
He cast a furtive glance at Dag to gauge his response. Seeing that Dag merely looked at the woods, he dared to go on.
“Nothing like that has happened before.”
Finally Dag turned his gaze upon him and peered at him intently. Seeing no trace of malice or mockery in Laig’s face he gave him his opening.
“What do you mean?” he asked; yet in his heart he already knew.
Laig appeared uncomfortable suddenly and hesitated. He threw a glance over his shoulder; seeing that they had not been followed he continued.
“I mean this: no one has ever been found with an expression like was found on his face, with no mark on them, no explanation for what took the life of them. For though some have left the path and not returned, none have been found off the path dead, and with no reason for their demise.”
He lowered his voice and glanced at the ground to avoid the question in Dag’s eyes.
“And?” Dag prompted him to go on.
“The Tuadan: he must have encountered the Tuadan. For it is clear that something frightened him to death, and that mound had once been one of the sites of their rituals.”
“The Tuadan were cast out of their places long ago,” Dag reminded Laig in a voice so stern that it startled him.
“Yes, yes, I know: I said the same to myself when I found his body. But the smell of evil was in that place where we found him. An evil I remembered as a boy. For I know; I had an encounter myself once, in that very spot. Long ago it was, yet I remember it well. Indeed, it would be impossible to forget!”
And Laig shuddered and passed his face across his hand. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then raised his head to look at Dag.
“I was seventeen, and walking in the woods one May evening, very much like this one. I had gone to visit a friend in Annick and cut through the woods for a shortcut. It had been a fine day, and the air was full of birdsong, something I always missed in the winter months and noticed in the spring.
“As I wandered along I disregarded the warnings to stay to the path. Oh, I had been told many times not to stray from it, but the grass was so green and I took off my shoes to feel it between my toes as I walked through it. I recall laughing for pure joy and spinning around, very silly I know, but I was only a youth.
“As I spun around I suddenly became aware that the birds had stopped singing. Just like that; one minute singing their songs, the next complete silence. I had an eerie feeling come over me, and realized there was no sound of anything else in the spot. Do you know how many sounds are to be heard in the woods, Dag? Birds singing, rabbits rustling through the grass, squirrels leaping through the trees, making the branches creak beneath them, twigs snapping as deer leap and descend. There was nothing, nothing I tell you!
“And then, I heard it. A footstep. And another. Right behind me. I turned and looked. There was no one there. But I saw something that nearly frightened the life out of me. The grass, Dag. The grass suddenly fell beneath an unseen step; the same step that was following me.
“I did not wait to see who was there but ran as fast as I could back to the path. For once I was on the path I would be safe; that is what I had always been told, and to the path I flew. I tore out of that place as fast as I could, never looking behind me to see what followed, all the way until I was safely out of the woods.
“And he was found in that very spot. And even as a boy, he tried to leave the path to explore beyond. And if you were to ask me, it was leaving the path this time that killed him.
“Because in my heart, I know he had an encounter with the Tuadan, and whatever he saw scared the life right out of him.”
Chapter VI
The Return Home
Felicia entered the gates of her grandmother’s villa with a reluctant sigh. How she hated having to return to Lycenium and the life that awaited her there! But she had promised Bimo that she would honor her promise to her mother and so to Lycenium she returned.
Around her the flowers were in full bloom, and the birds sang their songs of joy. On this glorious May morning, it seemed doubly cruel that her independence must end as she resumed her old life as a daughter of the house. All about her was rebirth and renewal: within her a dread of desire destroyed made all seem like bleak winter when the world waits for the return of life.
With a weary shrug of her shoulders she strolled down the drive and took one long look at the villa before proceeding, as though to prolong her freedom for a few minutes longer. And to steel herself before facing the wrath of her parents. Marcus as well as Tullia would be furious with her, she knew. Although perhaps her father would be more understanding of her flight than her mother would.
She walked up the marble steps and opened the great double doors, surprised at how heavy they were. But so accustomed had she become to Kyrene’s humble dwelling that she had forgotten the grandeur of Drusilla’s estate. And her father’s estate in Valerium had been even statelier still.
With a sudden pang she remembered the exquisite rose garden that delighted her father so. Mixed with his pleasure in the garden was the pain of remembering his arrest by the Palace Guard of the Empress Aurora so long ago, right there in its very environs, and all of the tragedies that followed his arrest and slavery.
Would he ever see it again, she wondered? It was her heritage as well, she realized, as well as her identity as a child of Dominio. Did she not have some responsibility to carry on her legacy as a Maximus as well? Bimo
was right: she had been thoughtless and selfish. She was shamed to realize now how deeply she had wounded her parents at her rejection of the patrician status they treasured so much…
She burst through the great doors and called a greeting to whoever might be nearby. Otho was just then passing through the atrium, and the butler’s face first paled with astonishment, then lit up with joy. Felicia laughed and rushed to greet him with outstretched hands.
“Lady Felicia!” Otho exclaimed. “Your parents have been so worried about you! Oh, it is a blessing to have you back.”
She laughed and swung her hands back and forth between his. Tullia would no doubt disapprove of her familiarity with a servant, but she was delighted to see his face once more, one she had known all of her life. When the family had been exiled from Valerium, Marcus had brought the faithful old butler with them. Drusilla made a place for him, fortuitously as it turned out, for her own butler of many years had fallen ill and died, and Otho took his position in the household. Otho, however, quickly recovered himself and his awareness of his station and gently extricated his fingers from hers.
Felicia looked around the hall of the atrium and wondered where everyone was. Surely the sound of her voice should have brought the others running to greet her? She frowned in bewilderment and turned a puzzled gaze to Otho.
“Where is everyone?” she inquired. “My Father and Mother? And Lucius? Is there no one at home?”
Otho sighed and turned a look of mild reproach upon her. She recalled that look that she had incurred as a child for any breach of decorum that the butler felt was beneath her dignity as a daughter of the House of Maximus. She had a sudden feeling that she was about to receive a lecture from the faithful old servant.
