by A Werner
Chapter 25 – Iconoclast
Excited, her sandals barely grazing the floor, Anthea Manikos sped up a circular flight of stairs in the west tower of the castle at Capua. She shooed her three servant girls away and entered the bower alone, her private apartment. The riders that had been sent by Francis Whitehall to retrieve her said nothing about the sudden haste and security.
The first thing the Grecian beauty did upon entering the bower was approach the ancestral flax wheel of her great grandmother. She treated this old wooden contraption as though it were a holy relic. It was a family heirloom that had not been used for two generations. It was revered nonetheless. Anthea paused over it for a moment, reflecting. She caressed the oak bobbin before placing the delicate new purchases from La Torre over the wheel, red sindon and white silk.
Anthea Manikos would be turning twenty-four in two months. She was in the prime of life, a time to wed, begin a family, perhaps even found a charity and immerse herself in trendy social clubs. She was finally beginning to feel like a mature woman. Her engagement to Pero de Alava had thrust her onto the world stage. Life was changing. There were so many responsibilities.
In the wardrobe, a private storage room attached to the bower, Anthea had several prototypes of the wedding gown. She was entering the final stage of planning. Her dressmakers were contributing ideas but they would have no part in the ultimate fashioning of the dress. This was her project and she would complete it with her own hands.
The whole wedding, as a matter of fact, was her magnum opus. She was organizing and juggling every aspect of the fast approaching ceremony but it was cumbersome. A hydra spitting venomous doubts, kept her on edge. Every time she thought she had defeated a head, another would sprout in its place. She was so afraid that some essential detail might rear itself at the most inopportune moment, causing them embarrassment for a lifetime.
And what about Pero’s sainted mother, Maria Alava? The grand old woman would be attending. Anthea had spent a great deal of time with her during their Spanish retreat but it was not a happy concord. Both women spoke Latin but Maria refused to do so. She continued to speak her native tongue during the course of their stay at Cielo Diamantes. It seemed to Anthea that Maria purposefully did this to test her patience and resolve. To her credit, Anthea was not idle in this matter. She tried her best to gain a passable understanding of Spanish but it was challenging and she had not yet mastered it. Anthea Manikos never brought her concerns about Maria to Pero. She felt it was her duty to win the affections of the grand old dame on her own merit.
The most obstinate head of the hydra, the one which took the greatest toll and required the most effort to fend, was Pero de Alava himself. Her betrothed was aloof, detached and sometimes simply no help at all. Since his confrontation with Rugerius Fabbro, the Spaniard appeared uncertain. He was distant and easily distracted. His bright blue eyes were always clouding over with dreary premonitions, delusions. ‘He is going through the motions but something is missing. Has he had a change of heart? Does he have reservations about our relationship? Why all this avoidance and fear?’
Of course, when Pero was thinking clearly, he said all the rights words to reassure her of his commitment. He could sound convincing.
Anthea unduly thought the worst of herself, thinking her affections not inspiring enough to awake him from his worries. ‘Am I overthinking this? Am I blind to something that should be obvious? Can love really be as blind as they say? Or is that faith that is blind? It can’t be good to confuse those two virtues with one another, can it?’
Anthea had learned at an early age to pray when her heart was troubled. Using her right hand to gesture the sign of the cross over her narrow chest, Anthea approached a red bureau with a two-foot-tall crucifix standing proudly on it. The relic, covered in diamonds and gemstones, was a spectacular gift she received from Pero during their trip to Spain. It was an identical reproduction of Alfonso the Second’s ‘Cross of the Angels’.
Anthea opened a drawer on the red bureau and retrieved a rosary from a white ivory box. She prostrated herself flat on the floor and prayed in her native Greek tongue. “Father, bless my eyes to see your purposes. Grant my hands the skill to do your good work. Sustain me. Give me strength so I might endure. Grace and mercy are yours to give. Grace and mercy are your gifts to your saints. Grant me grace and mercy.”
There was a knock at the door.
Anthea rose quickly, her rosary still wrapped about her hand.
When she opened the door, Pero stood in the entryway wearing his silver armor, the scarlet star of House Velez in the upper left quadrant near his heart. Because of the August heat, he was sleeveless, his muscular arms exposed. He wore metal-soled boots with prickly spurs and boiled leather riding pants. A hint of the chain mail he wore beneath the breastplate was falling out near his waist to protect his torso. Hanging from a wide leather belt and sheathed in a fine cow-skin case was Miriam, his single-handed sword.
“I have to leave.”
Anthea already knew this. She lowered her head. It was just enough so her bobbed brown hair could shelter a concerned expression. Without speaking a word, she eased the door fully open inviting him in.
Pero entered.
The moment he was fully in the bower, Anthea slammed the door shut and wrapped her arms around his neck tighter than ever before, the rosary beads tinkling lightly against the metal on the backside of his armor. A hint of stubble had surfaced on his face. She was sensitive to it when their cheeks touched, pressing close together.
Pero cringed at her conviction towards him. This was too comfortable a place for a wretched soul, such as he was, to be at this moment. He knew the evil he was about to commit did not deserve such innocence and bliss. “I have been ordered to attend negotiations in Melfi.”
Anthea tried her best not to be amazed by this revelation although she was. “How long will you be gone?”
“Three weeks; a month; perhaps a year. Who could possibly say? Negotiations like this can be very open ended affairs.”
“What about our wedding? Our families are making plans. Your mother will be here in a fortnight. It is too late to change the date.”
Pero did not respond.
“What shall I tell everyone? Is this pause indefinite?”
Again, Pero did not respond.
“Pero, you have to give me something. I don’t know what to tell people. Is there a war? What are you negotiating? Why can’t you send Francis? You have responsibilities in Capua. You cannot forsake your post.”
Pero gently dismantled Anthea’s arms from off his person and put some distance between them. “I am not forsaking my post. I have been commanded to leave. I have a sworn duty to perform. I may not approve of the task I have been assigned but I must honor it. If I solve it, complete it, it may mean peace. It is my obligation.”
Anthea despised the vassal’s code. This chivalrous subjugation of men to princes and kings was a stupid notion to her liberal sensibilities. Back home in Greece, there were but a few soldiers to maintain order in the cities. There were no knights, none of this feudal nonsense. It was her belief that in time, these proud caballeros and their gaudy pretensions would be gone. The romantic foolishness of the feudal world would become extinct.
“Iya basta!”
Anthea flinched.
“Damn it!” Pero shouted again. “Eagles Pass!” Pero paused and let those two words hang in the air. “Gherardus commands that I travel to Melfi by Eagles Pass.”
“No,” Anthea contended. “This cannot be true. No one travels on Eagles Pass, not anymore. It is too dangerous. There are other paths to Melfi, better paths, safer paths. For God’s sake, there are quicker roads.”
“Si, I know the perils!”
“So, tell Gherardus you will not do it.”
Pero shook his head. “I cannot.”
Anthea placed her warm hands over Pero’s clenched fists. Her voice sang to him like the siren Parthenope enticing an unwary mark. “Pero, my love
, tell your lord that you cannot do this one thing he asks. You have never defied him before. Surely, if Gherardus be a just man, he cannot overlook that fact. You have grounds for refusal. You are getting married soon.”
Pero shook his head some more.
“Pero, I need you. The people of Capua need you. You cannot leave us. Not now.”
“Anthea, there are some things a man must do because it is his duty to do them. This is the code I’ve sworn to honor. Capua must accept this. You must accept this. This is the evil a knight does. He leaves. He forsakes his loved ones for the glory of the kingdom.” Pero hesitated. This next part would not be well received and he knew it. “Your self-interest in this matter is irrelevant. It will only serve to hinder me.”
Anthea’s mouth dropped open and her peaceful tone disappeared. “Self-interest? My self-interest? So suddenly our marriage is all about me? You have no stake in this?” Anthea was boiling inside but still found the maturity to maintain her focus. “What plot is this, Pero? Why are you turning against me? I am not your enemy.”
There was cold dead silence between them.
Anthea melted and spoke first. “I’m your helpmate. I will do anything to better our life together. You have but once to ask me anything. Speak to me of any burden and it is gone. I will bear it alone for as long as it takes. Would Gherardus do the same for you? Would he love you as I love you?”
Pero smacked his lips together. He had been rehearsing this next part of the speech in a mirror for an hour and now it was time to see if he had it down to perfection. “Fine Anthea, hear this and let your virtue abide it. Our engagement is terminated. There will be no wedding, not now, not ever. Cancel everything. I have decided it.” Pero scowled and leaned towards her. “I cannot and I will not leave with this private affair looming behind me. You are a distraction, an albatross about my neck. My life is difficult enough. You will not complicate it anymore.”
Anthea’s stare was blank. The words flowed from his mouth with so much ease she could not fight them. ‘Where is all this futility coming from?’
Pero suddenly felt courageous. He tapped his hand against the breastplate, right on the crest of his family’s honor. “Look at me and see who I am. I am Pero of Penafiel. My father never wed my mother. You know this. He thought it selfish to swear such a foolish oath. Until this day, I believed his reasoning to be unsound. Now I grasp the wisdom. As vassals of greater lords and even greater virtues, we must defend our liberty. We can’t let our baser pledges get in our way. Our swords define who we are, not our hearts, not our loves.”
Anthea hardly ever snarled in her life but she did now. “Baser pledges? Is that what your proposal to me was, a baser pledge? Real men uphold all their pledges. Your first pledge was to God. And together with God, husbands and wives become one. That is the only relationship worth fighting and dying for.”
Pero scoffed at her opinion. “Matrimony cannot benefit us now. We are not free born, we never were. Marriage only complicates things. We can be wholly undone by the whims of distant tyrants. I cannot fight them. No one can fight them. I must obey.”
“But Pero, you’ve been fighting tyrants all your life. You have distinguished yourself through your just rebellion. If you saw something amiss, you opposed it. That is who you are. That is the man I fell in love with.” She tilted here head to one side. “What has changed?”
There was silence.
Anthea smiled. “Look at Capua. Look to your people. Since you arrived, there is law and order, there is peace. That is your doing. You are a peacemaker, Pero. You brought life into a dark world and lit it up for everyone to behold. Capua is your home now. Don’t let them take that from you.”
Pero still said nothing. His blues eyes were empty.
Anthea ran her fingers through the curly locks of his lush black hair. “You have changed so much these past few months. I want my husband back.” Her voice grew quieter and gentler with every passing syllable. “You know in your heart that this is a trap. Rugerius wants you dead. Gherardus wants you dead. All the knights in Parthenope want you dead. What better way for them to get their wish than to send you out on Eagles Pass?”
“This is not a trap.”
“It is a trap, my love.” She brushed her hands on his face, across his nose, down his cheeks and chin. Sliding gracefully away from him, she untwisted the rosary and placed it back in the white ivory box on the red bureau beside the Cross of the Angels. “You have no more faith in this mission than I do. I can see it in your eyes. I can hear it in your voice. You are hurting. You are afraid.”
“I am not afraid!”
Anthea felt the anger in his quick response and knew that she had made a poor choice of words. Turning and leaning comfortably on the bureau, she tried to be more appeasing. “Stay here Pero, stay with me tonight and we will pray. What can Gherardus do to us if you refuse to go? He can do nothing. It’s not like he will march an army up the old north road and lay siege. That would be madness. We have time. We have time to think this through. Let us ring the bells and beckon the people forward. Hold an all-night vigil in the bailey. Yes, let us throw a banquet, declare a celebration. Assure the people of our confidence in the Lord’s ability to make a way out of no way. Can’t you see it? A thousand candles, hymns being sung, everyone united with one accord. Together, Capua will be stronger than the might of Gherardus and his minions. Together, we can withstand any wickedness that comes before our gates.”
“Anthea, this evil knows no doors. It scales walls and surmounts towers. It festers in dark places and poisons the very air we breathe. It will haunt us day and night. It wants me. It wants my soul. I must leave Capua at once and take this evil with me. They will follow me wherever I go. You and the people of Capua will be safe once I am gone.”
Anthea shook her head and walked back up to him. She tapped his breastplate with a soft fist wondering how to get through his rigid defenses. “Pero, I feel safe when you are here. I could never feel safe with you a thousand miles away.” The smile was gone. She was close to tears. “Pero, I’m scared. I beg you, husband, come, take my hand and let us pray.”
Pero stared at her hand and refused it. “Anthea, I cannot pray with you ever again. The bond between us must be broken. I am not your husband. I never will be.”
Anthea did not want to believe he could remain this defiant, this long. “Pero, you belong here. You are safe here. There is nothing to fear. The knights of Capua are loyal to you. They will fight for you and protect you.”
“Iya basta!”
Anthea flinched as Pero’s nature disintegrated. He edged her aside and proceeded to the center of the room, his focus targeting the ceiling. He pointed at it. “Protect me? Fight for me? You promised! I read your words, all this rock, fortress, shield nonsense! I read them over and over and I prayed about them too! So where is it? How are you going to protect me? How are you going to protect them?”
Pero was quarreling with someone but it was no longer Anthea. She was merely a spectator to his ramblings.
“The world is mad! No one is safe. Must you destroy everything? How much lower than the angels did you make us? I’m tired of bending my knees! I’m going to stand!” His finger formed a fist. “And what will you do about it? Will you break me? My mind is already broken and there is no healing it. You will not break me again! Not this time! Let’s see how fast you heal after I break you!”
“Pero,” Anthea implored. “Who are you talking to? What are you going to break?”
Pero scanned the pleasantries of Anthea’s chamber with mad and heated desperation. As quick as lightning, Pero stretched forth his strong right hand and grabbed hold of the bejeweled crucifix on Anthea’s red bureau. In an iconoclastic fit, he brandished the cross high above his head as though it were a sword. With a mighty scream, he smashed the icon down on the floor, the force of the blow breaking off a blessed arm and dislodging dozens of colored stones.
Misfortunately, during his frantic wheeling motion, the heel of hi
s left boot rose up high behind him. The prickly spur upended the antique wheel from its resting place. While the jewels were sprinkling and tinkling across the floor like raindrops on a tin roof, an unexpected blizzard of splinters and sticks from the fragile wooden device accompanied them. It was an irreparable mess.
Anthea couldn’t believe her eyes. She gasped before dropping down to her knees, her chest heaving in fits. She gazed in wide panic at the broken remnants of the family heirloom. Crazy for purpose, she crawled around the floor, scraping together the jagged pieces of the flax wheel, the shards of the cross, and the brilliant gemstones in tiny piles. Slivers from the old wood impaled her fingers as fragments of metal cut her thumbs. She bled without notice or care.
Pero heard Anthea wailing in desperation. He saw blood forming on her fingers, dripping on the grey flagging.
“Now the game begins,” he candidly spoke to the God he loathed. “I have feared you for far too long. No more fear. The whole world is drowning. Sinful men are everywhere. Their carnage never ends. The rains just keep coming, never ceasing. You care nothing for your creation. You won’t lift a finger to stop us from hurting one another.” Pero paused and peeked down on his nearest and dearest love wailing on the floor. “No. You dare not speak to me again through compassion. That weapon will do you no good. I refuse to be weakened by my love for Anthea. I leave her fate to you. I intend to wear hate for a while. If you are a god of love, then behave like one. Climb down off your miserable throne in the clouds and touch her, heal her, relieve her misery. She is henceforth yours and not mine. I’m tired of always being the one to put things right.”
Anthea, her bloodied fingers still trying to process the folly and make sense of the mess, heard nothing Pero was saying. They were in the same room but in completely different worlds, him in the future and her in the past.
