by L. M. Roth
They had little contact with the outside world, he said, because the hunters went to the forest to bring back meat, and the traders went to the trading post to bring back the goods they could not make for themselves. Everything else they needed came from the forest, berries, nuts, meat from the bear, the boar and the deer. They milked the goats they raised and grew flax for their garments for the warm months. Furs from the beasts they hunted shielded them from winter’s ruthless grasp.
He told them of their homage to Bjorrne, the Bear. It provided for them, he explained. Its meat sustained them, its pelt helped them to survive the harsh winters. But they approached it carefully and with awe. For the bear they hunted could so easily turn on them and devour them. Then they became the prey, and their life an offering to the bear. On a summer day one could hear the sound of bears dancing in the thunderstorm, shaking the heavens with their heavy treads.
Marcus listened politely and said nothing. He dared not venture a glance at Felix. Felix bit his lip and offered a comment.
“Well,” he said. “Well, well.”
Dag told them of the long summer days when the sun seemed a fiery ball suspended right over their heads. Then days were long, with only a few hours of night. This was a season of joy and dancing. The villagers played many games and celebrated the feast day of the Bear. One man would carry a bear’s head before his face and don a pelt. Several men would chase him with spears. The hunt was always successful, and the “dead” bear was carried back to the village where small children skipped in a procession before it, strewing wildflowers in its path.
“But do not think that we are a land of peace at all times. We have our foes and our feuds. We slay those who make war with us. We do not back down. My kin war with the tribe of Asbjorn. They stole part of our lands long ago and we were forced to move north. I am sworn to kill at first sight any son of their tribe.”
Felix froze in mid-grin and merely stared at Dag. Marcus felt it best to change the subject. So they spoke of general matters and made plans for the rest of the journey.
Dag could lead them through the heart of the forest which covered many miles. They would soon come to a trading post where a small ship came to the river by way of an inland rivulet which flowed out to a harbor that emptied out to the Sea. From there they could sail to the land they spoke of. He had never been there, but he had heard of it from the men who came to the trading post.
Here they bought furs and animal skins from the men of Trekur Lende, in exchange for the metal pots and pans and shiny knives that the Trekur Lenders could not make for themselves. Yah, he had heard of this Gaudereaux, a land flowing with the vines of grapes and other fruits. He would get them there safely, trust Dag!
One night after Marcus had fallen into a fitful sleep, he was awakened by a peculiar noise. Like a hum it was, and the northern sky was lit by strange colors that shifted and glowed in the frigid blackness; now green tinged with blue, now violet flowing into red, then turning to orange melting into yellow and changing back to green. Their hues were reflected on the snow-covered ground and the ice-laden tree branches, turning the landscape into a vista out of some fantasy world. Never had Marcus beheld such a spectacle, and he woke Felix so that he also might experience the eerie vision.
As they rubbed the sleep from their eyes, they became aware of Dag standing with his back turned to them, his legs akimbo, his hands on his hips with his gaze turned upward. Silently they approached him, and Marcus gently tugged on the sleeve of their huge guide.
“Dag,” he found himself whispering as if afraid to break the spell of the light show. “What is this?”
Dag turned to them. He did not lower his voice.
“Have no fear,” he assured them in his usual booming tones. “These are the Lights of Rainbow Hue.”
“But, what are they?” Felix asked.
“They are the souls of men who died. They come back to guide us.”
Marcus stared at Dag for several moments.
“Why do they do that?” he finally ventured, as Felix smothered a snicker.
“They did what was not right,” he explained as he glared at Felix. Felix immediately pulled a sober face. Dag was mollified.
“When they lived, they did not give aid to those in need,” Dag continued. “In our land, we share our homes with those who trek in the wild, to bring them in from the cold and the snow. We give them food and share the warmth of our fires. Those men did not, and those they shut out froze to death in a great storm when the wind hurled ice on the trees, and threw snow on the ground.
“This made Bjorrne rage in the sky. He growled and stomped his feet, and the men shook with fear at his wrath. He killed them, and took them up with him to his lair. There, they do not rest, but when the snow flies and the wind howls, they must show the way for those who walk in the wild in the gloom of night. They light our path in the dark. They hum a chant to Bjorrne. They help us,” he firmly stated.
Marcus paused before answering. Truly the natives of this land had some strange beliefs! He dared not look at Felix.
“Oh,” he said at last. “I see.”
Now as they prepared to board the small ship, Marcus looked around the trading post. What a bustle of activity after the stillness of the forest! He had almost forgotten the sound of civilization. He and Felix had set out in mid-January. That was three weeks ago. It would soon be spring.
The creak of the ramp beneath his feet returned him to the present. The voyage would take at least three weeks, if the weather proved good. But at the end of it lay the end of his quest. Or so he hoped.
The wind howled, furling the sails in the rigging. Seawater shot up and over the deck, spraying Marcus with an icy splash. The small ship rocked violently from side to side, the storm shaking her in its fury.
Marcus, Felix, and Dag had come up on deck, not liking the confinement of their quarters below. The tempest had raged for hours, beating the boat in its grasp.
The Captain called out to the young men where they stood.
“I need every man. The crew have their hands full already. Follow me.”
He led them down the narrow staircase that went below deck. He needed, he explained, the tarpaulins to take above board and cover the decks, to keep the seawater from rotting the planks.
They followed him to a long wooden trough where the tarpaulins were piled in a heap. The topmost came easily to hand and he handed them to the three young men who held out their arms to receive them.
The Captain reached for the tarpaulin on the bottom, but it appeared to snag on something. He yanked but it seemed stuck. Then with a mighty heave he pulled on the tarpaulin with all of his might. It came free but the Captain fell over backwards. At the same moment a small lad of about ten years of age leaped out of the trough and tried to run away.
“A stowaway! Seize him!” the Captain commanded.
Dag was closest and tackled the lad and threw him to the floor. The child attempted to squirm out of his clutches and punched Dag in the nose.
“Ow!” Dag yelled and attempted to stem the sudden flow of blood.
Felix and Marcus dropped their tarpaulins and danced on either side of the small boy. They signaled to one another and at the same moment leaped toward him and knocked him to the ground, pinning him securely underneath them.
“Let me go! Let me go!” the child cried out in the Common Tongue.
“I ought to toss you overboard!” the Captain exclaimed. “Boarding my ship without paying. It’s a disgrace, it is!”
“Oh please, don’t kill me! I had no money and I had to take the ship. I had to leave home!” the boy whimpered and clutched the captain’s hand.
“And why should I let you on my ship without paying like everyone else?” the Captain thundered.
“Well, I could help,” the child said quickly as his face brightened. “I could scrub decks, do hard work. But I can’t go back home!”
The child hung his head of tousled blond curls. His blue eyes filled with
tears. By the look of his reddened nose, he had shed many tears already.
“If I go back, I will be sold as a slave. To the Hoffingi, our Tribal Chief. I heard this on the night before I left. My mother and father spoke of it when they thought I lay asleep in my bed. My father had a bad year hunting. He was given grain by the Hoffingi but could not repay with pelts. So the Chief wants me to be his slave. He is cruel and will beat me. Please do not send me back there!”
Marcus caught his breath and quenched a torrent of words. How cruel to sell one’s own child to pay a debt! He who knew the feel of the irons, the despair of bondage, could not stand by and permit this to happen.
“Captain, whatever the cost of his fare, I will pay it. You cannot toss him overboard, and he is too small for hard work.”
The small boy gasped as relief unlooked for lit his face. The Captain glowered at his uninvited guest.
“Very well. But I expect an account of how you have survived these past few days since we set to sea. Have you been stealing food?”
“Just a few apples. And some scraps that the crew did not eat. But that is all, I swear by Bjorrne!”
And the boy raised his arm and made a fist. Dag looked at him sharply.
“By Bjorrne, you say? Where do you come from, small one?”
“I come from Trekur Lende, from a village about twenty miles from the trading post. My people worship the Bear who provides us with food and with warmth. To swear by him is to invite a certain death if one is not telling the truth.”
“Then we are from the same land. My name is Dag Adalbjorg,” and Dag extended his hand.
The child blinked his eyes. His body jerked in an involuntary start. He grasped Dag’s hand.
“I am Cort…Cort Bjorn,” he hastily replied.
Chapter XV
The Land of Gaudereaux
Never, not even in his wildest dreams, had Marcus imagined such lush richness as he now beheld. Everywhere his eyes looked he saw green upon green, here and there dotted with purple. True, Eirinia had been verdant, but that had been the same emerald green of miles of grass-covered hills fit only for the sheep they fed. Here was the deep luxuriant green of vines bearing purple grapes that brought refreshing to those who tended them, the lighter yellow green of spring grass, and the deep pine green of forests that promised shade for the heat of the day.
Gaudereaux, this was Gaudereaux, the happy land. It was in this land of joy and pleasure where the Empress Aurora had heard the tale of the Great Pearl. And it was to this land that Marcus had come seeking it, not for its own sake, but to save the life of his parents.
Spring was already come upon this land. The fierce storm had blown their small ship off course and detained them in their voyage by over a fortnight. They had been swept further out on the Great Sea and had to wait for an east wind to blow them back to land. Unfortunately, the winds had proved to be contrary, first blowing them northward, then westward.
They had spent many idle days on board, waiting for the wind to cooperate and change in order to continue their journey. Marcus fretted and fumed impatiently, counting each day as a loss, as one more day that his parents must languish in their prison. He strolled aimlessly on deck, wondering how his parents fared, and when he might see them again.
How did his frail and gentle mother cope with the rigors of her imprisonment? Did the guards treat her with honor, as befitted a lady of Valerium, or were they abusive and rough in their treatment of her? Marcus burned in outrage at the thought.
And what of his father? Was he given the respect due to him as the leading General of the Imperial Army? Or were there some among the guards who resented his former status and now freely took their revenge by treating him ill? Did they consider him a lion, brought down by age and calamity, and they the new young rulers who sought to take his crown as monarch of the pride?
And he thought of Tullia, and whether she still believed him dead. Did she grieve for him if she thought him departed from this world? Or did she love Felix, as he believed, and pine for his company while on her sojourn with her mother in Moldiva?
Marcus longed to see Tullia, to tell her of the pain of his slavery, the anxiety over the imprisonment of his parents, and to learn whether his sufferings distressed her, and brought her pain. She had always been easy to talk to, even on such a brief acquaintance, and Marcus found himself opening his heart to her on matters that he kept private from the rest of the world.
With her he shared his hopes for the future and dreams of great deeds to be done. Surely she would not bear with the divulgence of his confidences unless she returned his regard! There was always a special look she gave to Marcus, apart from all of the other young men who clamored for her favor; a light sprang into her eyes when she glimpsed him in a crowd, and it seemed she became oblivious to all others that surrounded her, as though she saw no one but Marcus alone.
Dag had spent the days more industriously. Bored by inactivity and hard-working by nature, he helped the crew mend the sails that had been damaged by the storm. He proved to be handy with a needle, which surprised Marcus. Dag reproved him, saying that in Trekur Lende they made everything themselves. And he had no wife to mend his clothes. The crew welcomed the extra help, and in a short time came to accept Dag as one of them.
Cort also helped the crew. As if in gratitude for his life being spared, he helped wash dishes, scrub decks, and peel potatoes. The crew and Captain came to regard him with affection and dubbed him “half-mate” due to his small size. The sight of him on deck brought smiles to the weather-worn faces of even the hardest of deck hands.
Indeed, it was impossible not to love Cort. Possessed of a cheerful nature and loving heart, he seemed to dispense good will wherever he went. If a quarrel broke out between crew members due to fraying nerves in the days of idleness, it was Cort who poured oil on troubled waters and smoothed ruffled feathers. He simply couldn’t bear discord and would not rest until harmony had been restored.
A warm friendship had sprung up between Cort and Dag. Whether due to being fellow countrymen or from a desire of the strong to protect the weak was not clear, but whatever the reason, Dag watched over Cort like a mother watching a child take baby steps. He watched Cort in his efforts to help the crew like a proud parent seeing his child walk for the first time. But he was there to catch him should Cort fall trying to take on a task too big for his small size.
And it was evident to all that Cort simply adored Dag. He looked on the huge man with awe. Dag was clearly Cort’s hero. His size and physical strength inspired Cort to emulate him and spurred him on to attempt feats of strength for which he was not equipped.
Cort squired Dag, waiting on him at meal times, bringing water to him in the mornings to wash with, fetching his cape of bear fur which they called a kapake when he wanted to go on deck.
Dag permitted, even encouraged, these small attentions to the surprise of Marcus and Felix. Dag of all people did not seem possessed of pride as to find such attention his due. Felix came to the conclusion that Dag simply found it amusing, he remarked to Marcus. And certainly he seemed delighted with Cort’s ministrations, frequently rewarding him with tousling his curls.
Felix whiled away the monotony of the idle days by reading from the small store of books that Captain Onemius kept on board. He also spent many hours in the crow’s nest chatting companionably with the Captain, listening to the tales of strange lands the Captain had seen, of legends he had heard. Felix was of an inquisitive nature, and he thirsted for knowledge. He enjoyed listening to Captain Onemius and stored the information in his mind.
Marcus alone found the delay tedious. His one concern was to finish the journey and find the Pearl so he could buy his parents’ freedom. He had no interest, as Felix did, in conversing with the Captain to while away the time. Nor could he bring himself to assist the crew as Dag did. Always mindful of the dignity of his position as the son of Valerius Maximus, he felt that to engage in such labor would be to demean himself.
&n
bsp; As a result of this self-imposed exclusion from conversing with the Captain or laboring with the crew, Marcus felt lonely, and a sense of alienation plagued him on the whole of the voyage. It had been months since he felt he truly belonged anywhere. It had been June when he had been taken captive, and it was now the Ides of March as he stood on this hilltop looking over the vine-filled valley below him.
At last they had reached their destination. At last he could search for the Great Pearl. But, where did one begin?
Chapter XVI
Of Feasts and Frolics
Slowly they descended to the valley. Marcus determined that they must make their way to the villa of the Governor. Urbanus and his wife Renata had been but lately sent to Gaudereaux to fill the position left vacant when Aurora and Liberius had returned to Valerium upon the death of her father the Emperor Beatus, who was also his uncle. Urbanus had more in common with that great, just man than with his volatile cousin Aurora.
In the year that had passed since that event, Urbanus had been received warmly by the people of Gaudereaux, finding his fairness and sense of justice, along with the gracious charm of the lovely Renata, far more to their liking than the autocratic preening of the unpredictable Aurora with her capricious whims. And the daughters of Gaudereaux were far safer now that the rapacious Liberius had been removed from their midst, and was no longer around to threaten their chastity.
Urbanus had proved to be kind and honorable, but always conducted himself with the bearing of a Valerian dignitary. He held regular court days where the rich and the poor, the great and the humble could present their cases and sue for justice. Always he listened to both sides impartially and passed sentence justly. He ruled wisely and well, and had won the hearts of the people of Gaudereaux.
All of this Marcus had been told by Felix, who had heard it from Captain Onemius. In their hours of conversing he had spoken freely of the land to which they were going.
