wander no farther. I seek a home where I may divest
myself of what knowledge I have attained so that I may die with the surety that some good shall be remembered of me."
"Why us?" Ambrosius presses, thumbing his dimpled chin. "This city's got a lot nicer homes than our stinking hole."
"What comfort could my small bag of coins buy me in a fine home?" Merlinus asks. "Such prosperous families would scorn my puny offering. For you, however, the
money is sufficient to pay off your investors. You may own these stables outright. And as for me, if you will accept me, I will have earned my way with my little means into a family of noble heritage."
Ambrosius frowns crabbily and asks, "What do you know of our heritage, old man?"
Theo chimes in. "I told him about Father."
"Men of such noble lineage have the imprint of
greatness in them." Merlinus speaks to the unhappy man before him. "That is your breeding. I might, with my wide experience in the ways of the world, be of service to you.
Perhaps, what skills God has given me can assist you in your ascendancy to your rightful station."
"No more horse dung, Merlinus," Ambrosius
declares with a frightening tone of muted rage. "The service I want I get from a sword. The only knowledge I'm looking for is vengeance. And the assistance I need is power—not noise from an old fool like you."
"Brother, he's a scholar," Theo intercedes, and receives a swift, dark look from his sibling; yet, he goes on,
"Let's take him in. Knowledge is power. By what false pride can we refuse? We're the last of the Aurelianus clan. I don't think we're in any position to turn down anyone's help if it's sincere."
"I don't need anybody's help but God's," Ambrosius asserts, nostrils widening, "and that I've got. My cause is just."
"Of course! That's why God sent us Merlinus," Theo continues in an ameliorative tone. "I mean, really Ambro, he's already fed us and paid off our debts. What more can even you ask of a blessing?"
"Yeah, he's paid off our debts—and laid on us the debt of his messy old age." He shakes his head ruefully.
"When the money's gone and a year from now, two, three years from now, when we're still shoveling manure, and his as well, we will regret this. Mark me."
"Brother, I swear to you before our Savior, I will look after Merlinus myself."
Ambrosius shoves to his feet. "He's on your hands then, Theodosius."
He strides off, without another glance at the
mysterious old man.
Theodosius follows him with a forlorn gaze. "He's
cursed, Merlinus," the young man says. "No matter the faith of our fathers, he can't admit to love or peace. He feels only loss—and bitterness."
"The price of revenge is an empty heart." Merlinus regards Theo's sun-smudged features carefully, studying them for character and its flaws. His handsome, almost pretty, lineaments have a taint of harsh barbarian stock in the breadth of jaw and thickness of brow and cheekbones, the effect of which is softened by sparse black eyebrows and long lashes and those peculiar golden eyes. "Why has anger not hollowed you of all love and caring?"
"I didn't see Father poisoned as Ambrosius did," he replies readily, looking down at his labor-thickened hands.
"He was only ten when it happened, and he didn't even realize at the time what he had witnessed. Father was with a friend, a fellow senator, in the garden of our home in Londinium. Ambrosius saw the man pour the wine and add a nugget to Father's goblet. Ambrosius thought it a piece of candy, like Father used to put in his son's wine." He turns his head to the side and blows an unhappy sigh. For a while he does not speak. Entranced by his family's history of grief, he stares through a chink in the rafters where the morning star shines like a distant icy puddle in the clouds above the city battlements.
Eventually, he continues: "Years passed before my brother finally understood that nugget. To hear him
describe the dying with its violent convulsions and bloody vomit is to understand my brother's anguish and his eternal hatred of Balbus."
"The poisoner?"
"Yes. Balbus Gaius Cocceius " He faces Merlinus with a shadow of his brother's pain creasing his brow.
"We've learned from emissaries out of Londinium that Balbus's ambitions have been bloodily fulfilled. With our father's corpse and others like it as stepping-stones, he has taken the title of high king of the Britons. We've heard that even the barbarians honor him with a Northman's
title—Vortigern."
"I know of Vortigern," Merlinus confirms grimly. In the distance, as if with the stride of an omen, the toll of the city's church bell coughs. "I know that he has brought a great evil into our land—that he is importing fierce pagan tribes and paying them gold to fight the Northmen. He has yet to perceive that his new allies, his mercenaries, are themselves the very enemy that threatens Britain."
"He's a murderously cunning son of a bitch," Theo says despairingly. "And because of it, Merlinus, I'm afraid for my brother. I mean, what chance does a stable master have against a creature brutal enough to become the high
king himself? Believe me, I've tried to soften my brother's heart, to win him to the ways of our Savior. You're a wise man, Merlinus. Tell me—what can I do to save my
brother?"
Merlinus exhales a long, thoughtful breath and
dares to tell him the truth. "No one is saved. Not from the sickness of this world."
"But Jesus—"
"Not even Jesus was saved."
"He rose from the dead—"
"Yes. You speak the immutable truth. From the
dead." The wizard opens his long hands before him, helplessly. "No one is saved."
Theo's golden eyes grow big and frightened. "Are you saying my brother is doomed?"
"I am saying we are all doomed. You must not fix upon saving your brother. It is yourself that you must save, Theo."
"What do you mean?" Anger flushes his cheeks. "I am saved. I'm a Christian. I will not taste death."
"In this world, you will."
Another flush of anger darkens Theo's face, yet he
smothers the words that rise up in him and instead asks patiently, "You are not a Christian, I take it."
Merlinus shakes his head.
"What is your faith, then, Merlinus?"
The wizard answers truthfully, "It is my faith that we are all very mortal. It is also my faith that there is an imperishable good in life and that the full horror of man's cruelty cannot kill this good. Nor can death diminish it.
Life's end is life. Death and all that lies beyond death belong wholly to God."
"Then you do believe in God?"
"Of course. In my travels, I have met"—he very nearly says "Her" and interrupts himself—"I have met God in many guises." He offers a benignly sly smile. "Such as the gentle man who lifted me from the gutter yesterday."
Theo disguises his abashment by brushing a long
wing of hair from his face and standing up. "Merlinus, you know that what I did for you yesterday I did without thought of reward. Your generosity to us today is undeserved. With those funds, my brother is one big step closer to enacting his revenge on Vortigern. Do we deserve that, I ask you?"
Merlinus bows his head and speaks softly. "The
least of us, who believe they are the greatest, rage against our fragile mortality with violence and scheming. Yet that only advances them all the more swiftly to that fatal period where they fall into the pit nature has prepared for them.
This is as inevitable for Vortigern as it is for your brother."
"And for us as well then," the youth concludes.
"There is no other way," Merlinus agrees.
"Are you two still talking?" Ambrosius calls from the loft, where he has ascended to fork fodder for the horses.
"The day's wasting away while you two confide in each other—and now we've got another mouth to feed. Get to the shop, Theo. Get those saddles ready. The sold
iers will be here within the hour."
Theo offers his hand to help the old man up, and
Merlinus takes it, stands, and pulls him firmly closer.
"Thank you for giving me a home—and a mind worthy of my teachings."
"You have a home for sure, Merlinus. As for the
worthiness of my mind—" Theo stares squarely into the smoky crystal of the traveler's eyes. Cataract blind, yet he moves well in his darkness. Aged yet spry. And swift to bind us to him with gold. An unholy figure. A doctor of the dark arts perhaps. Is his prize my soul?
"I must warn you now, your gold cannot buy my
mind. I am an acolyte. I go every day at noon to the church to study for the priesthood. If you stay with us, you can bet I will do my best to win you to our Savior. Please, take your coins back and move out now if that offends you."
Merlinus squeezes his hand with genuine affection
and promises him, "Nothing done with love offends me."
Theo smiles with relief. He slaps the old man gently
on the shoulder and goes to his work in the leather shop, his heart glad with the innocent pride that faith brings.
*
A faint odor of burning oil from the altar lamps
underlies the spicy glow of incense in the church. This is Theo's favorite place in the city, because it reminds him of home. In Armorica, he practically lived in the church. The peacefulness of sanctity appeals to him and has comforted him since he was a child.
Gazing at the grand marble architecture, with its
soaring pilasters and tall windows full of dusty daylight, he feels enclosed in holy presence. Satyrs and nymphs run along the entablatures, Roman reliefs from when these domed alcoves burned offerings to Bright Sky, king of heaven, Jupiter Optimus Maximus, lord of the gods. Now it offers burned fragrance to the Nameless God and his
crucified son.
Jesus hangs at the cruel peak of his suffering on the cross above the altar, carved directly into wood in
gruesome detail. Theo kneels in a votive niche in sight of him yet veiled in shadow. The raven-haired acolyte is an
interior man, as private in his worship as in his thoughts.
He thanks God for sending Merlinus and asks for
the requisite strength and grace to understand the old man's teachings in the light of Jesus' sacrifice. His faith, he believes, is his strength. All knowledge is food and must feed that strength.
Until Merlinus, the adventure on this island seemed
to Theo a desperate climax to a melancholy existence.
Mother never let Ambrosius forget their father's ignoble death, imploring him to avenge the Aurelianus family.
Coming to Britain was more an escape from her ghost with its incessant carping than a feasible enterprise.
Theo would rather have gone south, to the
Mediterranean and the renowned monastery of Lérins,
where the finest ecclesiastic scholars often retreat to hear God. But family history has propelled Ambrosius into
harm's way, and Theo could not abandon him.
Satan would not have allowed it anyway. From his
earliest memory, Satan has come to him in his sleep and tortured him with furious visions of battlefields.
Ambrosius says that this is not Satan but a dragon
that shapes itself as a man to watch over Theo. It is an ancestral dragon, memorialized in the family's flag of Draco.
Theo knows better. The man with the lizard skin and
yellow eyes who appears to him in his nightmares is Satan.
He has come to Theo through the world-wall, and he
smells of fire.
Has Satan sent Merlinus? Is Satan the source of
this gold that buys our enemy's blood?
Prayers alone keep Satan away. Fervently, Theo
prays that Ambrosius will make peace with himself and the death of their father without spilling blood, without giving satisfaction to the lord of vipers.
*
Through the green rapture of summer and the
sorrowful loveliness of autumn, Merlinus' days with the Aurelianus brothers have an unvarying routine. At dawn, the wizard fixes a breakfast from last night's leftovers, then helps Theo prepare the saddles for that day's riders while Ambrosius readies the horses.
Once the mounted patrols are out the gate,
Ambrosius spends the rest of his morning as he always does, practicing military maneuvers in full armor upon his own steed, leaping on and off his beast, striking at stick men upon the ground and atop sawhorses, brandishing a weighted sword with both arms to strengthen his blows.
The armor, the sword, and the maneuvers are his father's, all that remains of his noble legacy.
One morning a week, Ambrosius insists that his
brother practice horseback archery with him, and despite his protests that he is an acolyte, Theo obeys out of a sense of family honor. The Aurelianus clan can trace their equestrian ancestors directly back to the first cavalry unit to serve in Britain, the fierce Sarmatian horse-warriors from the Danube frontier assigned by Agricola to the cocky Legio XX Valeria Victrix four centuries previous.
Ambrosius is exceedingly proud of his forefathers'
prowess in the saddle and with the tall Persian bow, and he meticulously maintains all the skills he has acquired as a youth from his grandfather's horse-masters and archers.
Theo clearly enjoys riding but only halfheartedly
wields the bulky, weighted weapons, much to his brother's loud frustration. As soon as Ambrosius' curses become obscene, the training session is over for Theo, and he storms out of the riding yard, vents his hurt by shoveling manure for a while, and then continues his studies with Merlinus.
The old man tutors him in Greek, as the young man
is already proficient in the Latin classics, and they contend in long, rambling Neoplatonic discourses in which the wizard tests Theo's spiritual mettle by challenging
everything the youth learned from the priests.
Merlinus' tutoring, like his shoveling of manure, daily marketing, cooking, and mending, serves to disguise his real intent. At noon, while Theo learns Church dogma, Merlinus goes to market for that night's dinner. He keeps a sharp eye out for the wives of the city's elders and military commanders. They ride in litters carried between two
mules and pass through the market on their way to the baths. After they drop off their servants to shop, Merlinus uses his ploys to learn from the menials all that they know about their households.
At dinner with the two brothers, Merlinus shares
what he has learned in the marketplace as though he has simply overheard gossip. In that way, he informs them in advance when eminences from other coloniae are expected to parade into the City of the Legion.
Mounted in full regalia under the dragon-sock
emblem of their family, the Aurelianus brothers ride ahead time and again to meet the incoming dignitaries. This provides for them several opportunities not only to meet but serve in the field with visiting counts, dukes, and once even the king of Anderida.
Ambrosius, hardened by his unremitting practice
sessions, acquits himself well in skirmishes against roving
gangs that harry the farmers and outlying hamlets. The impressed dignitaries commend him to the city elders, who in time offer him a place in their cavalry.
Proud Ambrosius refuses. A senator's son of ducal
rank, he can accept nothing less than a command
commission—and that requires far more than a few
victories against hill bandits. Despite his noble rank, Ambrosius remains a stable master and no one takes
seriously his ambitions for leadership.
As for Theo—he behaves in the field with reluctance
just shy of cowardice. On each engagement, he
embarrasses his brother by striking foes with the flat of his blade and taking no lives. His brother rails at him for his feck
less fighting, and the priests admonish him for fighting at all.
Even Merlinus begins to doubt Raglaw's vision of
Theo as a savage battle-king.
What dispels the wizard's doubts are the youth's
nightmares. Almost nightly Theo wakes thrashing, glittering with fright sweat.
Merlinus notices. He sleeps very little and spends
his nights strolling among the weed lots between the
stables and cottage, conversing with himself about God and destiny. Most nights, Theo just rolls over and hugs himself to sleep. Some nights, he wakes with such a shout, he rouses his brother.
Alerted by the first taut cries, Ambrosius sits up with a start, hand flying to the sword beside his straw mat. His grip relaxes on the weapon, and he wearily lies back. "The dream again?" he mumbles.
Theo answers feverishly. "I saw him again. He
presses his face up close. I felt his heat, Ambrosius. He smells like wet cinders."
"The Devil?"
"Yes—Satan himself." Theo sits up in the dark, arms tight around himself. "I swear by the Cross. I saw his yellow eyes and the scales around his hinged mouth—"
Ambrosius mutters impatiently, "That isn't Satan."
"Tell me again, Ambro."
With a groan, Ambrosius rolls off his straw mat,
slouches across the room, and kneels beside his brother.
"Listen to me, Theo. When I was a boy, Father told me about the dragon. It changes form with the seasons, living underground in winter, rising with spring thunder, and flying among summer clouds, invisible and powerful as the wind."
"I could see this thing, Ambro," Theo stresses. "It wasn't invisible at all."
"That's right, little brother. An Aurelianus man can see the dragon. That is why we are the dragon clan. Far
back in time, Father said, we did a favor for the dragon breed, and now they watch over us."
"Why does he come to me? Why doesn't he trouble
you?"
Ambrosius puts his thick arm across his brother's
shoulders. "You carry the mark of the dragon on your back.
It stands behind you, not me."
"A birthmark, Ambro. Mother said it was nothing."
"No, it is more than that. Mother didn't want to scare the spit out of you. You see, Father had one just like it. It was between his shoulder blades. He showed it to me and told me himself it was the mark of the dragon. It means the dragon will fight for you, as it did for him and his father and all our forefathers, all the way back to our barbarian ancestors. When I was a boy, I wanted that mark for
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