by L. M. Roth
It was wonderful to return to the world of light after his time in the caves. He could not fathom why the Emperor had relented and not called him to Valerium as Decimus had anticipated, but felt that probably the connection between his daughter and the Minister of State was largely responsible. It would have been difficult to execute the father of the Minister of State’s daughter-in-law without causing distress to the Minister of State would have been the usual line of reasoning. That he knew little of the history of the Minister of State with his daughter-in-law’s father was only too obvious by such a conventional line of reasoning. Marcus knew that nothing would delight Decimus more than his execution, indeed he would only be too glad to have a hand in it, were it not for Felicia.
It was incomprehensible to Marcus that one as vile as the Decimus Hadrianus that he knew should be capable of warm affection for anyone, and yet it was becoming clear to him that the man loved Marcus’ daughter as much as he loved Decimus’ son. What a joke on both of them that this should be so.
Marcus recalled the words of Kyrene, admonishing him to make matters right with Decimus, and that his own threats against the man might prove to be the very reason that the theft of Logos was permitted. It was not a statement that made him comfortable, nor one that he liked to think about. But as he pondered on her words and prayed about them, the more he got the uncomfortable impression that she was utterly right…
Felicia had invited Marcus and Tullia to visit her at the Hadrianus estate where they could spend time with her and little Valerius. It was a fine day in May and she had brought the child out to the gardens to enjoy the sunshine and warm air. A gentle breeze wafted intermittently, sending the boughs of the trees with their bright green leaves dancing. Their full foliage had not yet come, and the effect was like a lacy green curtain spreading an air of delicate refinement over the marble statuary and spraying fountains.
Marcus realized anew how much he missed his villa and gardens in Valerium, the gardens which had been so meticulously planned by his mother Honoria. Although the Emperor had lifted the ban of persecution on the Alexandrians, he had never received permission to return to his home. And in view of Iacomus’ warped view of what an Alexandrian was, and his forcing the worship of Dominio, Marcus had never felt released to ask permission to return. In his heart, he feared that the price of returning would be at the cost of his integrity, that he might be called on to authorize the Emperor’s actions. And there was still the matter of Logos…
He wondered what use the Emperor was making of it. Certainly he never mentioned it publicly. If he had taken it to deprive the Alexandrians of a powerful weapon against him before, it was impossible to determine what his motive was in suppressing it now. He wondered if Felicia might have any knowledge through Decimus how Iacomus was utilizing the Sword.
He glanced over at his daughter, who was cooing over her son. So bright and sweet was the smile that constantly adorned her face when she looked at him that her father felt a sudden rush of tenderness for her. His first grandchild; and although he heartily disliked the child’s other grandfather he already felt a claim on his affection by the babe now lying on Felicia’s knee.
As if sensing his silent study of her, she turned a questioning gaze upon Marcus.
“Yes, Father?” she asked as she lifted an eyebrow in inquiry.
“I am simply enjoying the sight of you with little Valerius,” he remarked casually. “He truly is a fine babe, and has a definite look of my father.”
“You mean of my father,” a voice interjected.
Marcus looked up and saw that Decimus had joined them. So intent had he been on his preoccupation with his daughter and grandchild that he had not been aware of the sounds of approach. And Decimus did possess a quiet, almost stealthy tread, like that of a wild cat with velvet padded paws.
It was a description that suited him, Marcus thought. He glanced at his old foe, noting the black hair threaded lightly with silver, the bright green eyes encased in a fine network of lines, and the broad shoulders with tapering waist. Although a little heavier than he had been in his youth, he had kept himself in shape, even as Marcus had done, with regular exercise at the gymnasium, fencing, sparring, and running.
He became aware that Decimus was waiting for a reply.
“Hmm, well, I never met your father except briefly so I am not sure where the resemblance lies,” Marcus answered in a curt yet civil tone.
“Yes, it is a pity that they have chosen to live in Golida and will rarely see the child. But look here; the broad chin and the wide hands that curl up into fists, not to mention the color of his eyes, green like mine. It is unmistakable; see?”
“Ah!” Marcus said as he nodded his head as if in affirmation.
Not for the life of him would he have known the shape of Gerontius’ hands or chin, as he had only a fleeting glimpse of him on that day of horror long ago, but it was true that little Valerius had green eyes like Decimus. Suddenly the child started to wail, whether due to sensing the suppressed hostility of his grandfathers, or because he disliked having his features dissected, they could not tell. But wail he did, and his anxious mother peered into his little face to determine the cause.
“Oh, I think he is hungry,” Felicia pronounced. “I shall take him to feed him and then put him down to sleep. He still requires a lot, and I shall rest with him.”
She bade them goodbye softly and returned to the villa, leaving the two men alone. It was not a comfortable silence between them, and both avoided looking at the other. Yet Marcus kept hearing Kyrene’s words in his head, and he knew he must obey the prompting of the Spirit.
“Look, Decimus,” he drawled, unwilling to speak at all so therefore taking his time as he did so. “I said something to you a few years ago, something that I feel I must make right.”
Decimus was so startled that he turned his eyes on Marcus and gave him his full attention. His face was blank; it was obvious that he was not certain what Marcus referred to, and waited for him to continue.
“Yes,” Marcus continued. “I did: I told you once shortly after our sons became friends that if you ever harmed my family in any way that I would kill you.”
Decimus’ eyes lit up in remembrance and he nodded his head.
“Yes, you did,” he said, still nodding his head. “And what is wrong with that? That is natural, considering our hatred of each other, is it not?”
It was clear that Decimus was a man of his times, for in the Valeriun Empire it was considered nothing for a man to kill a foe if he harmed him in any way. But Marcus answered to a higher power than the Valeriun Empire.
“Yes, it is natural,” he agreed, “however, it is not right. It is not right in the eyes of Dominio Whom I serve, and Who loves all men and desires them to be saved.”
“Ah, Dominio again!” Decimus exclaimed. “He does seem to be mentioned a lot as of late, does He not?”
He considered Marcus for a few minutes, studying him intently.
“I can not seem to avoid hearing about Him, thanks to our Emperor. However, he appears to worship a different Dominio, a bloodthirsty God who would kill all heretics. But what you tell me is the same as your friend Dag, who spoke as you do. Very well, I accept your apology. But that does not change my feeling toward you, and I do not think it really changes your feeling toward me.”
Marcus twisted his lips together wryly, and then pounced on something that Decimus had just said.
“Wait; you said that Dag ‘spoke’ as I do. Why do you use the past tense? Has the Emperor put him to death and not made it public? What has happened to Dag?”
Decimus turned a look both amazed and amused on his old foe.
“Did you not hear?” he asked in a disbelieving tone. “Well, possibly the news has not reached Lycenium yet from Valerium. Dag somehow escaped from the Palace, with his entire family, and this time I had nothing to do with it. No one knows how it happened, except that every one of the Palace Guard admitted that they had fallen asleep, and s
lept soundly all night. That has never happened before to anyone’s knowledge. They blame it on a great storm that lasted most of the night and lulled them to sleep through the entire proceedings.
“Iacomus is most put out, as he now does not have his miracle man on hand should he need him.”
Without warning Decimus burst into loud guffaws and laughed until the tears poured down his face unhindered. He put a hand to his eyes and wiped them clear, then began laughing all over again.
“I can not help it,” Decimus gasped between roars of laughter. “If you could just see Iacomus, so elegant, so refined, depending on a rustic from the provinces to be on hand to resurrect him or do a miracle if needed. It made for an amusing day’s work, I tell you! And Dag, so cool and indifferent to the Emperor and his whims, speaking his mind and not caring if he offended him. It was like a fresh wind came to clear out that stuffy Palace with its rigid form. In truth, I shall miss Dag sorely!”
Marcus could visualize the picture that Decimus painted so vividly that he too erupted in laughter, in which he was joined by Decimus who was sent into new fits of guffaws. Occasionally Decimus interrupted to share some remembrance of Dag’s sayings or exploits, which renewed their amusement. At last they both sobered and gasped to catch their breath.
“Well, alright then,” Decimus said as he rose from his chair. “I accept your apology, but all is as it has ever been between us.”
Chapter XX
The Curse of the Wise Woman
Nolwenn knew that Melisande continued to be concerned about little Gwenaelle’s wobble, the difficulty she exhibited in walking. Was it possible that there was something wrong with the child? She knew that Melisande hated anything less than perfection, and wondered how any defect in her own daughter would affect their relationship.
Nolwenn kept hidden from Melisande the fact that Dirk had discovered and broken the amulet that she had given to her as a special gift. It had been made especially for her, and if Melisande knew of its destruction she would be furious at Nolwenn’s carelessness. She shuddered to think how her sister-in-law might act; she remembered when Brenus was alive how he seemed cowed at times by Melisande, and although Nolwenn had always been treated with gentleness and courtesy she knew the kind of temper her brother’s widow possessed.
Nolwenn was uncertain of her own feelings regarding the destruction of the amulet. It seemed as though a dark cloud in her life had dissipated for some reason that she did not fathom. The sky seemed bluer, and the sound of birdsong sweeter, since the amulet had been destroyed. She felt freer, somehow, as if a weight had been lifted from her. But why that was she could not say.
She wished at times that she could still summon up the foreknowledge of events that the amulet had shown her. With its destruction came a loss of power, and she felt like a helpless and uncertain little girl, and not the woman with a special gift that she had with the possession of the amulet. Her friends could no longer ask her questions that she knew the answers to, and the loss of prestige was humiliating.
At first she had attempted to guess when they asked questions. But as question after question was unanswered, her friends shook their heads in bewilderment, and then withdrew in anger. She was tempted to try to seek information in some other way, but Dirk had broken her bowl, and it would have been too unwieldy to slip away to use when she needed information at once. She both sighed for the amulet and the power it had given her, and yet felt relieved at the curious sensation of freedom that she now possessed.
And so the days of April slipped away, and events accelerated that would culminate in the Spring Festival.
An evening came when Nolwenn came face to face with Yuna, out taking the evening air, hobbling with a cane. She had grown feebler lately, and for a moment Nolwenn felt a pang of guilt that she did not seek her out as she occasionally did in the days before her father’s accidental poisoning. She had sat with her sometimes when she called on her to purchase herbs for her mother for cooking, or the occasional medicinal herbs that Judoc requested if a member of the family was ill.
But since Yuna had cursed Melisande, Nolwenn had been careful to avoid her.
With a start, Nolwenn remembered that Yuna had also cursed the baby that Melisande bore. And now little Gwenaelle walked with a limp. And she wondered if the curse had come home to roost…
“Well, little miss, how are you this fine evening?” Yuna inquired with a croak in her voice and a twinkle in her eye. “You are not afraid to walk about as the sun sets, I see.”
Nolwenn tossed her mane of dark hair defiantly.
“I am not afraid,” she sniffed. “I see nothing to fear: I am part of this land, and nothing in it frightens me.”
“Ah, that’s the spirit,” Yuna purred in a slightly softened voice. “You have the look on you, you do. And such courage is another indicator.”
“The look of what?’ Nolwenn asked, as a frown of genuine bewilderment creased her young brow. “I do not know of what you speak.”
Yuna cackled in amusement and drew closer to the girl, an action that did not greatly please Nolwenn as Yuna’s breath smelled of something sour and the scent of her herbs clung to her garments, particularly sage, an herb which Nolwenn could never abide. But Yuna did not notice the girl’s aversion.
“You have the look of a sorceress,” she intoned as she searched Nolwenn. “I’ll be bound that you have already discovered that for yourself. I’ve heard rumors about you among the villages lasses, I have. You have the sight: your mother never had it, your sister never had it; but you have it.”
This announcement was received with mixed feelings, for it stirred in Nolwenn a desire for her amulet, which strangely enough, she had not truly desired since its destruction. But now a fierce longing came upon her to hold it, and to search the depths of the crystal for those visions that thrilled and awed her. And in the same moment, she became angry with Dirk for destroying it.
“Well, I do not see what business this is of yours, Yuna,” Nolwenn declared with an attempt at bravado.
The truth was that Yuna made her extremely uncomfortable and she heartily wished for nothing more than to be rid of her presence. Yuna’s next words, however, changed her mind completely on that account.
“It is my business since the day I gave you a healing potion and your sister-in-law added something poisonous to it that nearly killed your father, Nolwenn Adalbart. And I warned you, then, and I warn you now, that one is no good, and you must stay away from her.”
Nolwenn bit her lip so hard in the attempt not to fume at Yuna that she drew blood. She decided, however, that it was time to put Yuna’s suspicions regarding Melisande to rest once and for all and have an end to the matter.
“Yuna, my sister-in-law is a kind person who would never harm anyone. Why do you persist in thinking she tried to poison my father? The truth is that you probably got addled in your brain and gave me the wrong potion for Father, and that instead of a healing potion, it was you that almost poisoned him!”
Yuna bristled at this and pounded her cane down hard on the ground. She came even closer to Nolwenn and her mouth was a tight straight line in her withered old face.
“Addled? Addled, am I? Be careful who you call addled, my girl! For you are as bewitched by that no good sister-in-law of yours as your brother was; and we all know what became of him!”
Nolwenn finally came unbridled at this charge. To speak of Brenus’ death was to touch an open wound that she still could not bear to look at, and that someone who was not a member of the family should force her to speak of it made her furious.
“How dare you bring up Brenus’ death and try to lay the blame at Melisande’s door! No one knows how he died, no one! Do you understand that? He simply went hunting in the woods as he did everyday and he, he…died. We do not know how, but he died.”
Tears that she tried to quench brimmed in her eyes, making them look like pools of sparkling jet in her ashen face. She took a deep breath to steady herself, but the tears spill
ed over and down her cheek. She hastily wiped them away, but not before Yuna had noticed.
“Go on and weep, girl, tis naught to be ashamed of! Why, it’s your father who is always telling you to control yourself, but he is a northerner, and not one of us. We Eirini have always let our feelings out, and don’t stifle them. Go on and weep, I say.”
By now Nolwenn was hiccupping with the effort to control herself, but the tears flowed and she hiccupped and wept, as her body convulsed with her stifled emotions. At last she ceased weeping and felt nothing, and wondered if she would ever feel anything again. She felt old suddenly, as old as Yuna, and shuddered at the thought.
“Sit down,” Yuna told her, pointing to a deadened stump left from a felled tree.
Nolwenn obliged and sat down heavily, wincing at the contact of the hard stump with her tender backside.
Yuna found a nearby boulder that she perched upon, and she gave Nolwenn a long stare that made the girl feel disrobed, as if all of her defenses were down and she had nothing to hide behind.
“About that brother of yours,” Yuna began.
She paused when she saw Nolwenn flinch with pain, and softened her voice before proceeding.
“Tis no secret that he strayed from the path in the woods, and whatever he encountered must have frightened him to death,” Yuna stated. “But I also know that he was unmanned by that wife of his: why all she had to do was glare at him and he froze like a stag when it hears the hunter’s tread. Afraid of her, he was, and with good reason, I say! For it has been many years since I saw one as evil as that one!”
Yuna paused and spat on the ground, and Nolwenn stiffened, preparing herself to do battle with the old woman if she must. Yuna simply didn’t understand Melisande, as did none of her family members. And she would not sit there and listen to criticism of her.
She decided to go on the attack and not be forced to listen to the old woman’s accusations.
