Maximus cups Dante’s hand over the gold pence and walks off, confident that he had reached the boy. He must have. The boy is smart.
Dante stands up. “Maximus?”
Maximus turns around and looks at Dante. Dante throws the gold pences at his feet. “That is my answer.”
Maximus stares hard at Dante with a fierce desperation and fights the urge to run to him and pummel him. The boy would expect that, and it would serve no purpose. Dante sits down again, and Maximus reluctantly walks off, chagrined and running out of options.
What should have been a meal that had taken less than five minutes to eat had taken Dante almost a half hour, for his hand would shake incessantly every time he brought it to his mouth, causing his food to fall back onto his plate. What food does make it to his mouth is minuscule. And so he is forced to take nearly three times as many bites to finish it.
As soon as he is done, Germanicus approaches him. “Stand up, boy.” Dante complies.
“Ai, Dottore,” responds Dante.
He grabs Dante’s hands roughly, eliciting a low level whimper from him. Cammilia growls lowly, unsure of his intentions. He smiles at Dante and seems pleased with his injuries. “Well done, boy. It seems you have fractured a knuckle on your left hand. See Merlin. He will patch you up.”
Dante sighs in relief. Seeing Merlin meant a much needed break from his martial arts training, alleviation from pain and the chance to see his friend.
Merlin’s apothecary room would have been the envy of even the most gifted and technologically advanced apothecaries in the world, for many of the vials, potions and instruments were the inventions of the man himself. Tiny instruments for excising the smallest slivers from panels stood next to giant syringes used for injecting a powerful anesthetic into the recipient who had to have surgery. Any enclosed vials or bottles were emblazoned with braille writing. The other vials which could stay opened produced a smell that Merlin could easily identify.
Unlike many of the apothecaries of the time, Merlin had never had to amputate a limb, instead, using a combination of natural blood thinners, leaches and potent antibiotics to rid the patient of even the most stringent infections. He and Vangelis routinely collaborated together on many inventions, further advancing his medical arsenal.
Dante can see none of these things, but the pervasive smell of disinfectant greets him as he walks in and all the glass vials. Seconds after entering the room, he hears the telltale signs of Merlin’s thick boots.
“Dante, how are you, boy?” asks Merlin
“Good, Merlin. We are well met.”
“Take off your shirt. Let’s get a look at your body.”
Merlin runs his hands down Dante’s front and backside and stops when he senses bruising. He applies a smelly jelly, paste that immediately causes a tingling which is soon followed by a pleasant burning. Merlin grabs his hands and feels them roughly but scrutinizes them, pushing hard on his left hand, causing Dante to cry out. “You have a hairline fracture on your left hand. It’s going to need to be set. I know you are no stranger to pain, so I don’t need to tell you.” In only a fraction of a second, Merlin grabs his hand and bends back the knuckle on his left hand, so deftly and quickly Dante barely registers a gasp. It splits, and then the pain is excruciating for several seconds until Merlin injects Dante with some substance. The pain slowly subsides.
Merlin begins to fabricate the splint that will go on his finger, allowing the bone to fuse properly. “Germanicus says you are doing well. It seems Maximus has targeted you.”
“I think he is trying to kill me.”
Merlin chuckles. “He is trying to break you or get rid of you. It means you are a threat to him, so he is trying to eliminate that threat as leader. Consider it an honor. If you were of no consequence, he wouldn’t have done anything to you.” He paused. “And likely you would not be here anymore.”
“I should be honored that he wants to get rid of me?”
“Ai. Indeed. You know I was also targeted when I was a boy. I had a tormentor.”
“And what happened to your tormentor?”
Merlin smiles. “He relinquished his desire to be a leader and gave it to me, for the good of the Brotherhood. He is my best friend. He is your Dottore, Dante. Germanicus.”
“So, Maximus and I may become friends?”
“Perhaps. That is one possible outcome, but there are other less desirous. You or him could be eliminated from the Brotherhood. I make no illusions about the difficulty of obtaining knighthood, but I believe you will. Of course, I do not claim to know the future.”
“Merlin, what if I don’t make knighthood? What if I have to leave this place?” Tears well up in his eyes at the thought of what it would mean and Dante is almost too scared to ask it. But it needs to be asked. He has to know.
Merlin hesitates. “Will I have to leave this place?” asks Dante desperately.
“You will be protected, Dante. I have the ear of the King, and he will protect you and see you to a safe haven.”
“Like a prisoner? Forever to be locked away.” Tears run down his face. He is helpless to prevent them. Cammilia licks his tear-stained cheeks.
“No, Dante, not like a prisoner. You will have rights.”
“But if I want to live, I will have to be locked away.”
“He will try to make it comfortable for you.”
“I don’t want to live as a prisoner. I want to live as you do. With purpose. With duty. As a Knight of the Round Table. I don’t want to live in fear.”
Merlin approaches Dante until he is only inches from his face in order to instill the point. “Then never surrender to the pain. Never give up. Pray without ceasing and become what you came here to do. I will do everything in my power to find our common enemy. One way or another, he will be caught. Have faith in God. And me, Dante.”
Dante smiles in relief. Merlin could always comfort him and instill hope. “Now undress and get in the mud bath.” Dante feels his left hand and observes that Merlin had already set the splint as they had their conversation. He was barely cognizant of it. Merlin had relieved his pain. He had been numb for several minutes, and now he could feel the familiar tingling in his hands. He began to move them freely and marveled at the magic of the mysterious man.
He gets in the ‘mud bath’, which isn’t really mud at all, but some primordial, gelatinous soupy liquid that had the consistency of blood gravy. It has a pungent smell that reminds Dante of a combination of mutton stew, rotten egg and Dandelion root. At first smell, it is oily and slightly unpleasant. Upon entering the soup, the smell of rotten egg is replaced by a more medicinal smell like Kalen root. But the soup is soothing and warm to the touch.
Upon ten minutes of being in the bath, his bruises disappear as if they were never there at all. Dante removes his right hand and notices how the raw knuckles had miraculously grown fresh scabs, indicating the healing process had begun. A couple of more hours in the bath and Dante’s splint could be removed by the next day.
“Tomorrow you take a break from your exercises, Dante- just to be safe.” Merlin advises.
As Dante changes into his new clothes, he reflects that he feels as if he is changing in to a new body as well. He clenches and unclenches his fist repeatedly and fires out a lightning quick jab from his shoulder, which produces a palpable ‘swooshing ‘sound. Since his hearing has grown especially acute with the absence of his vision, it may have only been his observation. Yet, he could not deny the fact his punches felt sharper and more forceful.
“I cannot teach you how to not fear, Dante,” says Merlin. Dante looks up, feeling startled and a little violated. Merlin enters his mind once again. “But I can teach you to suspend your fear.” In the next moment, Merlin is standing before him, disconcerting Dante further. Somehow Merlin had managed to appear before him without making a sound as if he were gliding. He points his finger at Dante and then gently taps it against his temple. “I will also teach you to create a vault, so no one may penetrate this,
not even me.”
Dante looks dubious. “Not even you, Merlin?”
“Not even me, boy.” Merlin turns to Dante and seems to consider something. “Tomorrow you have afternoon break at two. See me then, and we will work on your vault. I will give you a brief lesson in your morning break as well. Don’t mention it to the other students. I don’t normally deign to give personal instruction, and it would only be the cause for mounting animosity and rivalry. You’re already the source of much angst for the others. Let us not feed woe’s cause.”
“Ai.”
“And Dante, I don’t know if you are privy to a calendar, but next week is the Festival of Hammaden, celebrating Christ’s return from his campaign at Carthage. I feel that you may be in serious need of a holiday. It will be a three-day festival. You ken?”
Dante beams. “Ai, Merlin.” Dante had lived his life in a small town, but they were certainly no strangers to attending festivals. Christmas and lent were certainly celebrated lavishly, but the smaller festivals like Hammaden were given a cursory dinner banquet, as the town of Coiffen had not the means for such elaborate celebrations. Dante can only imagine what Christmas and Easter would be like.
Chapter 12: Pretentious Puffery
Like many members of the one hundred council members that served in the legislative body In Lycenea, Herod was arrogant, pretentious and demanded an engraved invitation to the festivals and holidays in Lycenea. Because of the distance between council members, several couriers were sent out over two weeks before the festival to ensure that all members received their engraved invitations. The role of a congressman was an enviable position, and much esteemed in Lycenea. Council members were not paid for their public office, but the power they wielded was substantial. Many members, Herod included, were already among the wealthy and did not need or desire to be paid.
Many felt the council members were overly-spoiled and the honor that was bestowed on them was done merely to placate their sensitive egos, and thus, the engraved invitation was naturally a source of angst for them. They felt they were unnecessary and a waste of precious resources. The Brethren were among those, but such concessions had to be made.
The invitation was printed on taupe parchment paper with a dark maroon, raised, Italic lettering favored by the upper borgeouis, the cost not inconsequential. Even King Menelaeus shunned such puffery.
Herod held the invitation in his hand and rose from his throne, looking at Morgana contemplatively, the devilish grin slowly widening in anticipation of the opportunity. Morgana smiled back. “The Festival of Hammaden affords us a great opportunity, Herod for cozening the boy.”
“It is as you say?”
Morgana smiles conspiringly. “Set watch and warrant it so. Maximus feels threatened by the boy. We can conspire to access the boy via chagrined classmate.”
“You believe the boy can be turned? To conspire against fellow recruit?” asks Herod.
“Maximus is deeply conflicted and power-driven. If we paint a portrait of a single path to kingship, he may betray one of his own. You know this. Has it not happened before? Even if you were recruited, would you not have turned on one of your own?”
Herod walks around in a circle, seemingly contemplating all the possibilities. “To have a puppet prince at my disposal.”
“You would have the world in your grasp.”
Herod turns to Dalton, one of his manservants. “Dalton, summon my son.”
“Ai,” says Dalton.
Several minutes later, the doors open and Caius walks in, staggering slightly, still shaking off the vestiges of drunkenness and lasciviousness the night before. His clothes are wrinkled, and his eyes are puffy and bloodshot.
Herod frowns. “Caius, find useful purpose and deliver my acceptance to the festival. But not before you clean yourself up and revisit dignity.” He pauses. “If you aspire to wear my name, that is.”
“Ai, my Lord.”
Chapter 13: Dante’s First Festival
Dante walks out into the street with Cammilia, along with the other recruits, wearing resplendent garb for the festivities of the town. Each ensemble had been tailored for each boy. Dante had an aqua, velvet vest and a black velvet petticoat with a gold-hued ascot. He had matching black pantaloons and black, leather dress boots, which seemed form-fitting to his feet. It was almost as if his feet were riding cushions, so comfortable were they.
The other boys are equally as resplendent. They look around at the amazing display before them. Dante cannot actually see the decorations, but his nose picks up on chrysanthemums, Rose mauder butter, cinnamon, eucalyptus and sweet, halenut gingerloafen, which makes his mouth water and his tummy rumble.
It is just beginning to get dark, but the lanterns had already been lit, and the boys’ mouths gape open at the decorations. Many had never been to Lycenea and were unaccustomed to the lavishness of the Capitol.
Tapestries of Christ in the midst of the Battle of Carthage are festooned along specially fabricated billboards, holding tiny lanterns, which will illuminate the vibrant scenes when full darkness takes hold. Brightly colored, deviled beads, which beat off and on are strewn across the cobblestoned walkways. Soon, the smell of roasted meat becomes pervasive. The wolves salivate at the indulgent smells of slow-roasted mutton, oxenule soup, and spit-fire roasted buffalo chops.
Grool, vodka, vino, and alespritz are all present as well, and the smell permeates through the air and meshes well with the smell of the meats and sweet bread, inducing the boys to even higher levels of hunger. Most of the boys are now twelve or thirteen and will be allowed small amounts of gruel and alespritz, which contain much lower levels of alcohol than spirits, limiting their inhibitions to marked degree.
By the time night descends upon the city, the festivities are in full swing. Dante and the other boys feast upon lamb chops, mutton and oxenule soup in copious amounts, filling their bellies as they had never been filled. They feel a bit guilty for such an indulgence. Some had never had a satisfying meal before entering the school as recruit.
Many of the boys had taken to the games, most of them childish, but many adults even participated. Maximus, being extremely competitive, participates in the game of kiter tag in which the contestants used slingshots to shoot down the tail of a kite as it is propelled across the air.
As to be expected, he is a master shot and wins consecutive matches, even when competing against the adults. Germanicus ponders at the level of marksmanship he will attain when and if he is granted his first piece shooter.
Dante chooses to sit by himself quietly, enjoying the respite from class, listening to the music and stuffing himself in the padded couch, while Cammilia chews on a mutton bone. She too, had her fill of the meat, but a meal within easy reach is too much to resist, and so she chews incessantly, occasionally looking up at her boy affectionately.
Merlin and Sylvia approach Dante, while Shadow walks next to her, rubbing up against her, tickling her and causing her to giggle intermittently. Occasionally, he inadvertently knocks her over. Cammilia perks up from her bone and greets the familiars. She sniffs Shadow in a greeting and stands on her haunches, as if waiting for Dante to give proper respect to familiars. Dante knows his manners. He gets up from his chair, feeling a bit sluggish from the feast and addresses Merlin. “We are well met, Merlin.” Dante senses the presence of a smaller one and female.
“Ai. Indeed we are boy. You remember your traveling companion, Sylvia? She seems a bit shy herself. Perhaps you two could make revelry together.”
“Ai Merlin. Set watch and warrant it.”
“Dante, it’s not a command, only a suggestion. You do know the difference? This is your free time. You ken?”
Dante smiles, trying to relax. It is difficult, considering the fact that he is intimidated by the girl’s presence; though he isn’t sure why. “Ai. Merlin.”
An awkward silence ensues. It lasts only seconds, but to Dante and Sylvia, it seems hours. Shadow licks Sylvia’s head, inducing her to giggles and th
en nudges her in the direction of Dante. She bumps him, and Dante nervously giggles himself. “Well, I will leave you two to better acquaint yourselves.”
“Where you were from, did they ever play hopyscotch?” asks Dante, hopefully.
“Ai. Would you like to play?”
“Ai,” says Dante as he sighs in relief. Sylvia grabs his hand and takes him to the hoppy board, and Cammilia follows. Sylvia and Dante throw the jacks and then try to navigate through the hoppy board, based on where the jacks land. Sylvia is a little unsure he will be able to play, given his handicap, but Dante proves to be a competitive player. She is pleasantly surprised at his athleticism and coordination.
Every sound he hears no matter how small is catalogued and provided a reference point for his movements. Sylvia is impressed and pushes herself harder in the game, intending to win. Dante wins the first two games easily and then purposely holds back slightly in the next two, allowing her to win.
She suspects that he does, but does not broach the subject.
Despite Sylvia’s natural reticence, she is curious about the boy. He seems to have a sweet innocence and melancholy, much like herself. Perhaps only he can understand her desire to avoid the other children.
“Where are you from?” She asks.
“I am from a town called Coiffen in the Siemen Valley. And you?”
“I am from Missalia.” Tears well up in her eyes at the moment she mentions her homeland. She is grateful at that moment that Dante is blind and can’t see her cry. She puts her hand over her lips to stifle a moan that may escape. She continues. “I was from Missalia. The town is no more and doesn’t exist. It was destroyed.”
Dante does notice her muffled cries and would even if she kept her voice from breaking. Few sounds escaped him.
“I lost my family too. The man that tried to kill me is still out there, and if I don’t become knight, I may be dead as well.” He looks at her with fierce determination. “I have to be a knight.”
Sylvia pats his hand lovingly. “You will. I’ve no doubt.” Cammilia licks them both on the face. “We tied each other. One more game to decide. You ken? And this time, no holding back.”
Lycenea Page 8
