by Doug Kelly
For the event’s sake, he put his lips to his cup and posed that way as he brooded, but he drank nothing and ate nothing. He could not swallow because of the sickness brewing in his stomach. He started to doubt the idea of his boat and a voyage away. Even if he succeeded, years would have to elapse before he could accomplish anything substantial, while here were men who already had wealth and power, like nothing that he could ever even imagine possessing.
The meal went on, and the talk became noisier. They served the guests chicken, lamb, beef, and a rare and special treat because of the difficulty in acquiring it, alligator tail. All the food on the table repulsed him. He did not drink either, other than the occasional obligatory sip of the wine, costly as it was because the warlord had it shipped from across the lake. The risk of pirates stealing all of a merchant’s cargo was very real and had rendered the wine even more expensive.
Slowly the time went on, and Aton glanced more and more often at the sky that he could see through the window. He eagerly yearned to escape or at least to be alone. At last, Olar rose; the rest immediately did the same, and they drank to his health and the expansion of his dominion. While looking at Lanzo, he thanked everyone for attending the meal, and then excused all of his invited guests. The women left the table, with Lanzo escorting Esina, shortly thereafter. Briand escorted the warlord’s wife. He was in the best of moods, being well fed and full of drink.
Lanzo had just returned, because he had gone part of the way toward Esina’s room, and after realizing this breach of etiquette, had gone back to the group. Lanzo took his chair and placed it beside Briand. Briand’s stomach turned, but he tried not to show his disgust for Lanzo. Around them, the rest gradually grouped themselves, so that Aton, who had not moved, found himself sitting alone at the extreme end of the table. The servants who had dined at a separate table left the room when the cooks brought in the wine. The talk now became extremely noisy, and tobacco smoke filled the air. Suddenly Aton realized that because he was sitting alone he would attract attention. Therefore, he moved his chair to the edge of the group, but remained silent and as detached as ever. The arrival of more guests caused a commotion, so he took that opportunity to leave the room in the midst of the clamor.
He wandered toward the main gate, passing the wooden shed where the clink of metal hammers resonated. He glanced at the sundial, which showed it was halfway to evening, and went out into the gardens. Walking farther, he descended the slope, not paying attention where he was going, and took the road that led into the village. It consisted of at least one hundred or more houses, built of wood under thatched roofs, placed randomly on the bank of the stream. Only one long street ran through it.
Citizens of Oberlin inhabited all these homes. At the sound of the bugle, Olar could rely on hundreds of men flocking immediately to guard the walls of his estate. Not long after, more would arrive from farther away, and by nightfall, local shepherds would arrive, greatly increasing the number of men inside the enclosure. In addition, the armed servants of the house, the warlord's personal attendants, and the men who formed his entourage, could also answer the call to arms. Altogether hundreds of well-armed men, battle ready, could arrange themselves beneath his banner.
Laborers had made two of the buildings in the town from brick, and not far apart. One was the tax house, Trahan’s office, where all merchants or traders paid their tribute to the warlord. The other was the council house, where Olar, but increasingly Trahan, sat to administer justice and send criminals or political enemies to the gallows; however, the dungeon was the cruelest fate of all. The village’s buildings always seemed new because fire easily destroyed the wooden structures. That had happened twice recently; fire had laid half the town to ashes, but the houses rose again in a few weeks because trees and lumber were so abundant and so easy to access. Near the doors of the two inns, groups of people gathered. Among them were the servants of the visiting clansmen. The place was full of them; horses filled the stables, and they posted their mounts under the trees and even in the street.
With every passing moment, the numbers increased as others arrived. Some men arrived on foot, traveling together for mutual protection because the feuds of their masters exposed them to frequent attack. To preserve peace in the enclosure, the guard at the barrier had disarmed most attendees and had inventoried their weapons.
Everyone was watching the descent along the forest road of three covered wagons in which women from surrounding clans were traveling. Some of the youngest and boldest rode on horseback. Women primarily moved in those kinds of wagons, which were designed for comfort, and were necessary to sleep in when camping in the wilderness. No one noticed Aton as he went by, except a group of young girls and the slave of a privileged family, visiting the estate with her master. He heard the traveling women allude to him, so he quickened his pace, but heard another one say, “He must be a servant.”
A woman replied, “No, he’s not. That’s Briand’s cousin. His father, Davin Matin, is their clan’s leader.”
“He could wear better clothes.”
Another woman facetiously added, “Maybe he wants to be a slave. Women like a man with dirty fingernails.”
There was another round of laughter at his expense. Although Aton had already turned his back to the wagon, each time another round of laughter drifted his way, he turned his head just slightly and sneered. It did no good. The gossiping continued.
“I know someone who likes his cousin.”
“Yes. Briand is a real man. There is more than one set of pretty eyes on him.”
Aton, ashamed and annoyed, walked quickly away. The gossiping woman was correct in her assertion. It seemed that all of the most desirable women were attracted to Briand. The latest rumor was that Olar’s youngest daughter, Malina, had taken an interest in Briand, which was the secret reason why Olar had shown Briand so much attention, even more than he had given to Lanzo. In Olar’s eyes, Briand fit the standard for approval.
Aton knew the extraordinary influence possessed by women of rank and position. Although every member of the ruling family must learn to read and write, the men could hardly do either. Almost without a single exception, women drew up all political correspondence, diplomatic documents, and court notices. They knew the secret, hidden motives of courts, understood political rumors, and had a great advantage over the opposite sex. They could use their knowledge without personal fear since men never seriously interfered with women because a society of disposable men always protected them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Aton was outside the village, alone in the field that bordered the stream. He knelt and drank from it with cupped hands. He was going to climb the hill beyond to seek the solitude of the forest, and had already reached the barrier at that side when he remembered that etiquette demanded the presence of guests during a meal. He hurried back and found the estate’s lawn crowded. Inside the home, guests could barely move around because of all the people socializing in huddled whispers of gossip, no doubt talking about Aton, too. The servants and slaves tried to pass politely around the groupings.
Slowly and patiently, he made his way to the upper floor and entered a room occupied by Nessa and some of the privileged guests of the festival. They were drinking chicory prepared from its root, fresh milk, or wine. Butter, honey, and bread were also on the table. Nessa sat alone, and the guests stood where they pleased, some choosing to lean casually against the wall. Formality had waned throughout the afternoon. While socializing, the guests were free from the restraint of mealtime etiquette. They did not consider it necessary to sit in a designated location. The guests helped themselves, or waited until the servants came to them with wooden trays piled high with food.
Although so near Esina, Aton did not succeed in speaking to her. With Olar’s blessing, Lanzo still captured her attention whenever other people were not talking with her. Aton found himself exactly as he was at the noon meal, outside this social circle. There was a buzz of conversation, but the guests did not add
ress a word of it to him. Dresses and shoulders brushed against him, but none of the guests seemed concerned enough with his presence to even acknowledge his existence.
Pushed by the jostling crowd from the center of the room, Aton sat down, glad to rest at last behind the open door. Forgotten and ignored by the crowd, he looked around as if it were a daydream, only regaining focus at moments when he heard Esina’s lovely voice. A servant came to him with a tray, and he took some honey and bread. Almost immediately afterwards, another servant came and presented him with a plate of food and a cup of fine wine. The servant bowed, lowered her eyes, and said, “From Nessa.”
Aton rose and bowed to his host. She smiled and nodded. The circle, whose members had looked to see who she had bowed to, turned away, not acknowledging him. Guests considered it very prestigious to receive a special plate with wine or food from the host, and that plate was special, almost priceless, as Aton saw when his confusion had abated. It was a rare ancient ceramic piece, a precious and irreplaceable relic. The ornate glazing was magnificent; it would be better to use such a thing as art rather than for dining. Owners treasured them as heirlooms and, if one was ever broken, obviously they could never replace the attractive dish. Nessa, the festival’s mistress, had glanced around the room and finally noticed Aton sitting in the obscure corner behind the door. She remembered, and her conscience agreed, that his family was their ally and sworn friend, even if from years ago. The fact remained that without Davin Matin’s help, she could very well be dead from a nomad’s spear.
She knew far better than her husband did just how deeply her daughter loved Aton. Better perhaps, than even Esina herself knew. She, like her husband, had higher aspirations for their daughter, but her heart was stronger than her ambition. The offer of wine was nothing that special, but she openly and courteously acknowledged him, and fully expected that Aton would respond courteously to the distinct invitation to come stand by her for at least a moment’s conversation. He did not come. New guests and the duties of hospitality distracted her attention, and she again forgot him as the others had already done. He was more offended than pleased by her attempt at kindness. It seemed to him like a bone thrown to a dog. He preferred that she regard him in such a way that would not require special favors. Her gesture, although with good intentions, had increased his discontent.
The afternoon conversation with food and wine came and went and so did the evening meal. The event tested his patience, which strained his temperament. He felt his anger begin to rise again. He slipped away at the first opportunity and wandered back and forth on the lawn, now wet with dew. On his return, he asked a servant to show him to his sleeping quarters, but it was some time before they could attend to him. He stood alone while others, those who had bribed the servants with silver coins, went first.
The house was so overflowing with guests that even the most esteemed visitors could not be accommodated within the home, and only the women could find sleeping room there. Because of the deep generational friendship between Aton’s family and that of Esina’s, Aton and Briand got the privilege of staying inside the Regalyon home. Briand would share the room with Aton, but Aton heard his cousin’s loud voice from afar, trading inflated stories of battle and conquest, so that for a while, Aton had the room to himself. The room pleased him. When he had visited this place as a young boy, he had always slept in that same room. He could still remember when he had first come through the forest, alone and afraid, but determined to venture. He closed his eyes and thought of the first time he had traveled there unaccompanied. He had enjoyed the fall sunshine on the red and brown leaves of the forest as his horse trotted along, until he got so deep into the woods that it seemed just as far to go back as to continue. He had slept in that room as a young boy, after traveling so far alone, and had slept in that same room every time since. There, in that very room, he had listened in the early mornings for Esina's footsteps as she passed by his door.
Now he sat down by the open window. It was a brilliant moonlit night, and he heard songbirds in the darkness. To the left he could see the beautiful moon, to the right, the forest; all was quiet there. He began to think about his future voyage across the lake, which he had been preparing for so long, and wondered if he went on the risky expedition, if he would ever sleep there again, so near to Esina, the one he loved. A battle raged in his thoughts, and he asked himself if it might be better to be poor and despised, but near her, rather than to attempt such a journey, especially as the probability of success, and maybe survival, was against him. He finally reckoned to himself that he could not stay; he must do it, and he tried to suppress the doubt that had reared its ugly head from the depths of his mind. Then he remembered Lanzo; he remembered that not once on that day had he exchanged one single word with Esina, beyond his first greeting to her. Then he reluctantly questioned Esina’s actions of the evening, such as wearing a certain type of orchid that in clan tradition was intended to show a desire for courtship, but ignoring him all evening long. She could have easily chosen to spend time with him, or arranged a stealthy meeting away from watchful eyes, yet she did not. Then, was it worthwhile to go on such a dangerous journey for her sake?
As he sat alone in the room, the sound of the door suddenly creaking open startled him. Before he turned to look at the doorway, his mind raced to a euphoric thought: it must be Esina; she had successfully sneaked away from prying eyes to have a romantic rendezvous with him. He turned and his heart dropped. It was not Esina. He did not recognize the strange man, who appeared to be intoxicated. The intruder seemed to be just as surprised, with his eyes as wide as his belly was full of wine and ale.
He was an older man, bald, and very overweight. In his haste to apologize while exiting the room, the stranger dropped his armful of possessions. He gathered them quickly and left as fast as he could waddle away. Aton rose to shut the door and saw something that the man had dropped, now partially hidden in the corner, behind the shadow of the door. It was a large rolled manuscript tied with a ribbon. Curious, Aton undid the fastening and unrolled it. In addition to paragraphs of mysterious writing, it had many diagrams. It was a map and a document of incantations, as stated at its beginning, written by someone whom the nomads had captured and enslaved for many years. The slave had observed the customs of their religions and their superstitions. He had witnessed the sacrifices to their gods. He had observed their technique of enchantment. As described in the document, the nomads would repeat certain verses, and then with a steady gaze, they would became filled with the power of spirits. He understood the meaning of a few of the signs, but the others were unknown to him. Several pages of explanation were at the end of the rolled manuscript. They described the demons believed in and worshipped by the nomads, demons that haunted the woods and swamps. Only charms blessed by a nomad priests could offer protection. There were also demons in the streams, demons dwelling in the center of the swamp, demons that could travel only in the moonbeams, and others that floated before the stormy winds and hurled the lonely wanderer to destruction or crushed him with overthrown trees. In proof of this, according to the written narration, the monk had asked the captured servant if he had heard of huge branches falling from trees without visible human intervention, suddenly and without warning. It had often happened with trees in calm weather, falling with a crash to the forest floor and causing death to those who happened to be passing underneath. According to the parchment, demons had to be the explanation.
Aton pored over the strange diagrams, striving to understand the hidden meanings; some of which he thought were alchemical signs, and related to the making of gold, especially because the prisoner’s manuscript stated that the nomads possessed much more of that metal in their tents than he had seen in the possession of a conquering warlord. Whether they had a gold mine from where they had extracted it, or whether they had the art of transmutation, he did not know, but he had heard allusions to the wealth that lucky adventurers had found in the ancient cities, which he thought to be myst
ical places. On the back of the document was a map or a warning, he was not sure because maybe it was both. The cartographer had roughly outlined Lake Pontchartrain with an indication of where the ancient city of Baton Rouge was located under a swamp. At that location on the map, there were symbols for precious metals and jewelry, infused with a warning of great danger and cautions to stay away for fear of death. Tiny sketches of skeletons accentuated this warning, maybe for the illiterate who were so common.
According to the document, at the site of that ancient city, an oozy mass exhaled a gas so toxic that no living thing could endure it. The black water surrounding it had a dark floating scum, which bubbled up from the putrid mud of the bottom. The wind collected the rancid fog and brought it together as a low cloud that hung over the place. The vile mist stayed within the confines of the marsh. There was never any wildlife under the cloak of that deadly haze.
The mysterious document enthralled Aton. It seemed to confirm all of the legends that he had heard regarding the lake’s hidden dangers, mysteries that sailors, treasure hunters, and fugitives already knew. He had heard tales of places where slime coated aquatic plants, which were noxious to the touch, but there was one place where even those did not grow. At that location, there was nothing but an oily liquid, black and rank. There, the fog sometimes hid the sun when it was thickest, but to enter the fog at that viscosity would be fatal. Since generations ago, there was an immense rottenness festering under the stagnant water, which had sunk down into the ground, penetrating the earth and fouling it in perpetuity.