“That is true.”
“We’ll discuss this further after I’ve studied your proposal for our treaty,” said Yvar. “I imagine that you’re tired from your long journey, so I’ll have someone escort you to your room. Later today, we’ll come together for dinner.”
“Aida, you’re in the wrong spot.”
The maidservant looked around and then changed places with the girl behind her.
“And tidy up your hair. You look like you’ve just rolled out of bed!”
Aida tried to hold the serving tray with one hand as she used the other to tuck away the loose strands of hair. Ghalatea sighed. Didn’t the young woman understand that the strands would come loose again after a few steps?
“Raja, help her!”
Why did everything have to go wrong today of all days? The maidservants knew what Ghalatea expected of them, didn’t they? This tomfoolery was the last thing she needed right now.
“All right, is everybody ready?” she asked as Raja took up her place in line again.
“Yes, Ancilla Princeps,” the maidservants said as one.
Ghalatea took a deep breath before she pushed open the doors to the dining room. With the young women trailing behind her, she walked into the room. It started to dawn upon her that she was the one who wasn’t ready for this moment.
As the maidservants placed the bowls of food on the table, Ghalatea gave a full explanation of all the dishes. Meanwhile, the pontifex looked her straight in the eye. There was a look of satisfaction on his face that made her shiver, and she had to concentrate hard to perform her duties right.
To suddenly come face to face with this man, shocked her more than she had anticipated. She was nauseous with fear and it was humiliating to have to serve the pontifex. This being part of her job as Ancilla Princeps, however, she hadn’t objected.
As soon as all the food was on the table, Ghalatea wished the men and women a pleasant meal and curtsied.
“Come closer, woman.”
Shocked by Zuzeca’s request, Ghalatea looked at the king for help. His nod, however, told her that he expected her to obey Zuzeca. She reluctantly walked towards him.
“You must be happy with the new life that Margal has granted you,” he said, as he brushed aside her veil. He studied the scar approvingly.
Ghalatea’s heart started to beat faster.
“My Ancilla Princeps doesn’t like you doing that,” the king said authoritatively, and the pontifex let her go. “Ancilla Princeps, it might be best if you leave and find another maidservant. Your presence bothers Pontifex Zuzeca.”
Relieved, Ghalatea wanted to follow the order, but the pontifex said, “Why would she bother me? She’s one of Margal’s daughters. She can stay and serve me.” He gave her a penetrating look, while still addressing Yvar: “I’d like to take her back to Naftalia and marry her.”
“I’m already married,” Ghalatea stuttered in shock. Some of the women averted their eyes in shame.
“I don’t think the Ancilla Princeps agrees to this, lord Zuzeca. And what’s more: I can’t cope without her.”
“Thank you, lord,” Ghalatea whispered relieved.
“All right, I understand that she has an important role in your court. To be honest, she is a bit too old, but she would have completed my harem. With a Purified wife I could show everyone that I accept all followers of Margal. Some of the pontifices still regard Purified people as inferior, but that is not what Margal taught us. She even had a Purified husband herself. The baptism has turned the Ancilla Princeps into a human being. It’s not for us to judge her. That is Margal’s prerogative.”
Ghalatea clenched her teeth and refilled the wineglass with shaking hands. If she had dared, she would have rested the carafe on the edge of Zuzeca’s glass, but she was afraid that he was familiar with their customs. While pouring out a drink, a big distance between glass and bottle meant that you held someone in high esteem. All Ghalatea felt, however, was contempt.
The worst thing was, that this man didn’t even realize how offending his words were. Margal was to pass judgement on her? Never. Ghalatea had no responsibility whatsoever towards the Goddess. She adhered to a different religion.
“I’d like to offer you my daughter as a sign of my good intentions,” the pontifex changed the subject, as he spooned up some soup. “I know you haven’t found yourself a new wife yet. Perhaps Nigesanla can take away your loneliness. She will be a good wife to you, or keep you company until you find a more suitable partner.”
Nigesanla choked on her food at the words of her father. Ghalatea was so perplexed that she spilled wine on one of the ladies. The woman screamed and stood up. “What kind of a maid are you?”
“I’m so sorry,” the Ancilla Princeps apologized, as she patted the dress dry. “Shall I walk with you, and help you get changed?”
Irritated, the woman shook her head and sat back down.
The king turned towards Nigesanla and smiled at her. “I’d be lying if I denied that you’re a beautiful woman.” Then he turned back to Zuzeca. “It wouldn’t feel right to keep this woman far away from her country and family without her consent, but if she wants to stay, I’ll make sure she’ll lack nothing.”
“Oh, I’m sure she doesn’t mind staying here. It’s a woman’s job to comply with the man’s wishes.”
“It’s too early to decide on this matter. In a few days’ time, I’ll talk to Nigesanla.”
The pontifex, looking completely indifferent, shrugged and took a bite of his meat.
The rest of the night it was primarily the men who did the talking. The women only spoke to each other when necessary. Ghalatea observed everything from a distance, and only approached the table when the king ordered her to refill the glasses or do something else. From where she stood, Ghalatea had a good view of Nigesanla. The girl threw the king panicky glances.
At long last, Zuzeca pushed his plate aside. The king followed his example. “I’ve had enough, too. Let’s drink some tea in another room.”
Zuzeca nodded and got up.
The oldest of his wives said silently, “We’re actually really tired, so if you’d excuse us…”
Without looking at her, the pontifex gestured that it was all right for the women to leave. The women hurried out of the room. Ghalatea wanted to follow the men.
“Maybe the women require your help,” the king said to her. “Have Betrys bring us tea.”
Ghalatea took off as quickly as the other women had done. In the hallway she leaned against a door to catch her breath. The next few days, she was going to stay as far away from the pontifex as possible.
6
Kasimirh didn’t even take the time to unsaddle his horse. He headed straight for the living quarters of his Purified followers. With every step he took he felt his anger growing.
On his way back to the caves, he had passed a number of ruined villages. It upset him that the Purified men had acted without his orders. It might have been Naftalians who had died, but Kasimirh was certain that Seraph hadn’t given them a chance to convert. Otherwise, he would never have been able to destroy this many villages in so little time.
Seraph’s drunken slur sounded from behind the closed door. Kasimirh threw it open and let his gaze wander along the Purified men, slouched in their chairs with goblets of wine in their hands. The sorcerer went straight for Seraph and pushed him further into the pillows. His eyes were ablaze with anger, causing Seraph to curl up.
“What have you done?” Kasimirh hissed at him.
Seraph regained his courage. He pushed Kasimirh away and got up. The two men were practically the same height.
“I did something we should have done ages ago. This isn’t just your war, Kasimirh. Have you forgotten the object of our alliance?”
“This wasn’t the right way! We have to be patient, Seraph. Soon, Lilith will fight on our side again. Then we can pick up where we left off.” Kasimirh couldn’t help the beatific smile on his face.
“What do you
mean?”
“There’s a servus on his way here, and he has Lilith with him.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but he has already returned. Alone. Lilith wasn’t with him. He didn’t even mention her.”
The anger that had propelled Kasimirh to the caves was rekindled. “Where is he!”
Seraph walked past him and pushed the sorcerer into the chair. “I’ll get him.”
Nander hurried after him. In the corridor, Seraph burst out laughing. “Part of me finds it hilarious that he has lost Lilith again. He’s not using her right, anyway.”
Nander only nodded. They walked down some stairs. Deeper underground were the lakes where the servi spent their time, and, as usual, this part of the cave was crowded. Warriors were floating in the water, supported by slaves. Along the walls lay Muircadhi that were shedding their skin. Slaves were scrubbing them with stones.
Seraph held still and looked around the room. Then he pointed in the distance. As they walked through the cave, Seraph quietly voiced his contempt for these creatures. The sight of the loose-hanging pieces of skin filled him with disgust.
The servus that had returned from Merzia was also bustling about with stones. He looked up at the two men approaching him and skittishly looked around for a way out. Nevertheless, he didn’t stop peeling his meistri’s skin.
“The master has returned. He wants to talk to you about Lilith,” Seraph scoffed at him.
The servus shrunk with fear, but Nander pulled him back up. The creature protested and indicated his meistri. “I cannot leave.”
“You can’t refuse when the master wants to talk to you,” Nander said.
The warrior didn’t look up, but motioned that the slave could go. With fear in his eyes, the servus followed Seraph and Nander. As soon as they walked into the room where Kasimirh was waiting, the sorcerer jumped to his feet.
“Where’s Lilith?”
The servus panicked. His eyes went to and fro. His skin started to shine more and more, as his glands secreted more fluid. He shook his head wildly.
“Why isn’t she here?”
The servus mumbled something unintelligible.
Seraph walked up next to him. “It‘s clear that this creature here needs to be punished. Tell me how and I’ll do it for you.”
The servus’s hand disappeared into his pocket and he produced a harpoon point. Eagerly, Kasimirh came closer and took the object from the servus. “The Inuuk caught her?” he murmured, scrutinizing the point. A fish was carved into the ivory. There was still some blood in the grooves. Undoubtedly, the servus’s own blood, because the Inuuk always cleaned their weapons meticulously as a sign of respect for their prey.
The servus nodded avidly and grabbed his shoulder. “I hurt. I do nothing.”
Kasimirh closed his fingers around the ivory point. Even though the Inuuk lived scattered in little villages, the decorations on the object should make it possible to determine who had taken Lilith captive. The little fish would guide the way.
Fist clenched, he took a swing. “Lilith was important to me, and you left her to her own devices.”
The servus wanted to creep away, but Seraph grabbed hold of him. “Don’t resist, you know perfectly well that you deserve this,” he hissed.
Kasimirh was lamming into the servus. Seraph shouted encouragements to hit him even harder. It egged the sorcerer on. The creature had robbed him of an important part of his power.
Then he realized that Seraph was doing the same thing. Right now, he was nothing but the Purified man’s plaything. Kasimirh was hitting the servus because Seraph wanted him to.
Seraph crashed to the ground from the impact of Kasimirh’s blow. Infuriated, he looked up at the sorcerer and wiped away the blood streaming from his nose.
The servus – who had fallen on top of him – wanted to scramble to his feet. Kasimirh snapped his fingers. The creature’s body twitched a few times before it collapsed into a lifeless heap. Kasimirh kicked it aside and pulled Seraph up.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t punish you.”
“They were filthy Naftalians. Followers of Margal.” Seraph spat on the ground. The phlegm was red with blood.
Kasimirh’s voice quivered, “You should at least have given them the opportunity to join us.” He made a small gesture with his hand.
Seraph turned blue. He frantically tried to pull the invisible rope off his neck. His mouth was open wide and so were his eyes. Nander wanted to intervene, but Kasimirh shoved him aside.
“These people would never have converted to Jakob,” Nander called out. “They performed the offering rituals with complete devotion. We did you a huge favour!”
There was a murmur of approval from the other Purified men.
Seraph was struggling to escape the magical stranglehold, but his movements became weaker.
All of a sudden, Kasimirh let Seraph go. He fell to the ground, coughing. He tore loose the upper buttons of his shirt and drew in deep breaths of air. Kasimirh sat down and looked at him.
“You’re lucky that I have need of you. I want you to come with me to Ilahidir. I’ll order the army to march into Merzia. The time for caution is over. Let’s show Yvar who he’s up against.”
“Army?” Seraph gasped. He shook his head. “You’ve had the Jakobinians trained to become priests. What do you expect? Do you think that if you send an army of believers who pray hard enough, Yvar will see the Light?”
“I also ordered to teach them how to fight.”
“Yes, they know how to hold a sword, so they can defend themselves when they encounter Naftalians who don’t want to abandon Margal, but that’s all they can do. A battle is an entirely different ball game,” Seraph coughed again.
Kasimirh clenched his teeth.
“You don’t stand a chance, Kasimirh. Yvar’s army comprises at least a hundred thousand well-trained soldiers. And yours? Maybe a quarter of that.”
“More. There must be more.”
“Even if you have half as many troops, it still isn’t enough. You need to rally more soldiers. Strong men. All those women and children won’t be of much use.”
Kasimirh contemplated Seraph’s words. He nodded. “I’ll order Tokala to turn my army of priests into an army of soldiers.”
7
Seraph opened the door to the room where he was holding seven priests captive. One of them was Winsu, whose eyes burned with hate when Seraph entered the cave. That was exactly why the Purified man enjoyed this so much.
Some of these men had been here for decades. They had dwindled into a state where they might as well have been dead. They offered Seraph no joy any more. Nevertheless, he kept them alive, because he didn’t want to give them the pleasure of being reunited with Margal after their death. Even though he didn’t really believe in Her, he didn’t want to take any chances.
Winsu cowered in the shadow of the little cell. Seraph had kept his word and had given him only tiny amounts of food, but now he had brought a plate of reasonably fresh bread and stew. Even in this stinking hole the smell of food quickly permeated the air. Winsu started to drool. He groaned with longing when Seraph took a bite.
“Are you hungry, my friend?”
The priest didn’t respond. Seraph took another mouthful.
“It’s not half bad, but I’m accustomed to a better quality,” he murmured, knowing that Winsu had only had mouldy bread lately. He looked at the priest again. “You can have it, if you ask politely.”
The prisoner, however, maintained his silent resistance. Seraph took another bite and got up.
“You know what, this doesn’t satisfy my palate. I’ll just wait for dinner: a nice joint of roast wildebeest with some vegetables and a fine glass of wine. Delicious.”
Then he put the plate on the floor, in front of the cell. Winsu looked at it. His determination clearly wavered. Nevertheless, his pride overcame his hunger and he didn’t move an inch.
Seraph walked around the room and stopped in front o
f the other prisoners. He grabbed a stick that was standing against the wall and poked at the bodies. The men moaned softly and opened their eyes slightly. Every movement cost them too much energy, so they let Seraph do as he pleased. Seraph picked up a water skin and gave all the men something to drink, except for Winsu. He could tell that the priest was on the verge of breaking, and would soon give in to his craving for good food. Seraph sat back down and waited patiently.
These men all wore the same red canonicals, but the fabric hadn’t been dyed red with madder. It had gotten its colour from the blood of Margal’s followers. All of the men had clean-shaven heads and chins. Winsu’s skull was covered in little cuts. He had done that to himself, because he had put up quite some resistance when Seraph had shaved him. Seraph knew that he’d learn soon enough that there was no use fighting. Sooner or later, all prisoners resigned themselves to their fate.
With these small adaptations, Seraph tried to make the priests look more like the man who had Purified him and Nander. Still, the hatred that raged in his heart was never placated. The only way to achieve that was to capture the real culprit.
Seraph had hunted down the hateful priest for a long time. For years, he had roamed through Naftalia in search of the bald man who had poured acid on his face without any trace of emotion. Later, he found out that the search had been in vain. The man had died of an illness soon after the attack on Seraph’s village. The Naftalians believed that Margal’s Parents had called him, because he had performed his task properly. The thought that this man was now living a perfect life in a heavenly kingdom, as a reward for torturing people, only fuelled Seraph’s resentment.
He was startled by a noise. Winsu had lost the fight against his rumbling stomach and was pulling the plate of food towards him. Before he could take a bite, however, Seraph got up and took the plate away from him. The prisoner reached out in desperation. Seraph put the plate back down on the ground, just outside the prisoner’s reach. Then he turned around and left the cave.
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