by L. M. Roth
Decimus shook his head.
“No,” he admitted. “Were I to tell her, she would be planning a celebration and inviting all of Lycenium before any could stop her. She would be thrilled at the thought of a union between her son and Tullia’s daughter, for she speaks of Tullia with such admiration and declares her to be her best friend in Lycenium.”
Here a wry chuckle escaped Decimus. He attempted to stop it, but it erupted into laughter that cascaded from him like the spray from a fountain, and he fished in the pocket of his robe for a kerchief to stem the flow of sudden tears that fell from his eyes and down his cheeks with the rapidity of melting snow off a hillock on a sunny day.
“Oh, the irony of it,” he rued as his laughter finally stopped. “Of all the women in the world…”
Marcus saw the tears that Decimus attempted to quench and to hide, and once again he felt a moment of pity for him. Did he love Tullia still? He tried to stifle his jealousy, knowing that his wife was truly a remarkable woman. Would any man, having fallen for her, truly be able to forget her? He thought not.
But it was not a thought that made him comfortable in the presence of the man who had once courted her and nearly succeeded in wooing her away from himself.
“Yes, ironic,” Marcus satisfied himself with agreement on that statement.
“But now the question to be answered is, what are we going to do about it?”
It was only after Decimus left that Marcus realized that he had failed to ask his unexpected visitor the fate of Logos, so great was his astonishment at the visit and purpose.
Chapter VI
An Astounding Discovery
They decided to have the families dine at the House of Hadrianus the next evening. Decimus would not tell Paulina at this stage: he wished, he said, to see how the young couple appeared together. And although he did not put it into words, Marcus knew also that he wanted to gauge Tullia’s state of mind before they made any decision regarding the marriage itself.
Marcus informed Tullia that Decimus had been to see him about the marriage. He revealed to her Decimus’ statement regarding the damage to Felicia’s reputation were the marriage to be dissolved, and saw the alarm that sprang into her eyes.
It was true that in the case of a divorce, the blame usually fell on the woman. There was an unspoken conspiracy among other women that any woman who could not make the best of her lot in a marriage must have something wrong with her, even if her husband proved to be a serial adulterer. In that case, they said, there must have been something lacking in her that caused him to cast his eyes in the direction of another to begin with.
That she would not wish her daughter’s reputation to suffer he knew very well indeed. And he realized that simply by marrying in secret as she had, Felicia had won her battle and had her parents right where she wanted them. For it was not conceivable that Tullia Maximus would ever wish to subject her daughter to gossip and the ignominy of never having the opportunity to remarry. Divorced women rarely remarried, Marcus knew, bearing the stigma of the divorce with men as well as women.
And he realized that his daughter’s fate was sealed indeed.
Paulina beamed on everyone present with the glow of an innocent. She was thrilled to meet Felicia at last, and was delighted to be reunited with Tullia and Lucius.
“How marvelous that we are all together once more!” she thrilled.
Decimus for answer, looked at her in silence, and then rolled his eyes and looked at his plate. Neither Marcus nor Tullia deigned to reply, or to enlighten her on her ignorance of the true state of matters. Felicia, however, answered Paulina’s statement with an innocence that matched that of her hostess.
“Yes, how delightful that we are all together! It is wonderful to meet you. Antonius has told me so much about you; and although Lucius knows you well, it is my first time. And what a pleasure it is!”
She smiled with the radiant purity of a bride who wishes nothing more than to please the mother of her husband, and to the astonishment of Marcus, Decimus saw it as well. A strange expression came over the face of his old rival: a look of wonder sprang into his eyes, and a reluctant smile crossed his lips with the unexpectedness of a sunbeam invading the darkness of a nocturnal creature which has been surprised by the appearance of its light. For a moment Decimus stared at Felicia and then he glanced from her glowing face to his son’s tender contemplation of her, and his still handsome face suddenly manifested both yearning and regret.
Marcus found his attention riveted on Decimus, but felt that he was invading his privacy, always mindful that the men of Valerium kept their true feelings cloaked. He dragged his eyes away from his host, and met the eyes of Tullia. She had not noticed the exchange of their host with his son and their daughter, and Marcus became aware that she was enduring great torment at being once more in the House of Hadrianus.
Paulina did not notice the undercurrents and carried on the conversation with the aid of Felicia.
“Have you heard?” Paulina exclaimed. “Emperor Urbanus has passed on, just died suddenly in his sleep! I did not know that he had any ill health, but it happened. And now there is a new Emperor, Emperor Iacomus. And Decimus is to be his Minister of State! We shall soon leave for Valerium so that he will take on his duties. I shall miss you all, but I must admit that the thought of living in Potentus is exhilarating!”
Only silence met this announcement, and Paulina wondered why her guests stared at her but said nothing.
Perhaps it was tactless to seem so happy, she thought to herself, mindful that there were still nuances of manner that escaped her and that she would need to learn in her new position as the wife of the Minister of State. How she wished that Tullia and Marcus would return to Potentus with them: for she trusted Tullia and her guidance in all social matters.
Without considering the consequences she voiced her thoughts aloud.
“How I wish you were coming to Potentus also, Tullia! For I will need you so. I have never been to Valerium, and I would be greatly comforted if you were with me.”
For Marcus her words had the effect of throwing a blazing log on a dying fire. He could not restrain the words that escaped his lips.
“That we can not do, Paulina,” he suddenly snapped. “For Tullia and I were driven out of Valerium by Emperor Urbanus along with our fellow Alexandrians. We can not return unless Emperor Iacomus overturns that edict, and I do not expect him to do that, as it was at his instigation that Emperor Urbanus enacted it in the first place!”
And Marcus savagely stabbed at the meat on his plate to vent his repressed fury. Tullia saw the redness of her husband’s face and turned to their hostess with a conciliatory manner.
“Paulina, you must understand that the subject of the Emperor is a painful one to Marcus. I apologize, but until the ban is lifted against Alexandrians we can not possibly return to Valerium.”
Paulina blushed at her tactless remark. She glanced nervously at her husband, whose attention was on their son.
It was Antonius who put it into words.
“And, Mother,” he said gently, “I too am an Alexandrian; it will be impossible for me to travel to Potentus with you and Father. I must remain behind in Lycenium when you leave.”
Decimus started suddenly, and Marcus realized that this complication had escaped his assessment of the situation. It was true that Antonius could not go to Valerium and must remain behind when his parents left.
Felicia, who knew nothing of the history with Decimus and his friendship with the new Emperor, burst in with her own observations.
“But how awful that you will be parted!” she exclaimed. “And I long to see my old friends in Valerium. It is too long since last I saw them. Why must the Emperor banish Alexandrians? We never did any harm to anyone; not ever!”
Paulina was clearly at a loss on how to answer such a question. Her attempts to do so only made matters worse; a talent that she excelled at in Marcus’ opinion.
“Oh, but I am sure that Emperor I
acomus will be a good ruler! Why, he is an old friend of my husband’s: they were boys together here in Lycenium. And when Decimus left Lycenium for a while, they met again in my home province of Seneca. Did I ever tell you of Seneca? It is a lovely place, renowned for its orange and lemon trees that grow even in the winter due to the mild climate. And that is where Decimus met me.
“But perhaps I never told you the full story. It was Iacomus who introduced us, for you see, he is the son of my mother’s cousin, and therefore is a relation of mine.”
Chapter VII
A Kindness Returned
Time hung heavily on Dag’s hands. The great man, who still resembled a bear just roused from its winter nap, was accustomed to activity from dawn to dusk. Confinement to the four walls of his prison did not agree with him. He spent much time in prayer, but the remainder was spent pacing silently as he fretted over the fate of those dearest in the world to him.
What was happening in Eirinia? Was Judoc finding peace at last over the death of her beloved son? Were Dirk and Brand able to do the work on the farm? Did Maelys mind her tongue when speaking to Melisande, or did she fuel the flames of their friction with careless words of taunting that bared her own hostility toward her sister-in-law?
And what of events in Valerium itself? What fate awaited the Empire with the advent of Iacomus Cornelius to the throne? This was the very man who had brought persecution on the Alexandrians within the environs of Valerium, and which had resulted in the exile of his old friend Marcus Maximus.
With such a man come to power, how could the state of affairs not grow any worse than they already were?
He sat on the crude wooden bench with his elbows on his knees, his head cradled between his hands. A footstep on the stone staircase resounded in the stillness of the silence, and he knew that someone was coming to his dungeon chamber. It was dark in the chamber, too dark to see now that the little of bit of daylight that came through the high slit in the wall was quenched with the setting of the sun.
He saw the glare of a burning torch, and the face of a guard. Dag had been imprisoned for two weeks now, yet he had never seen this particular guard. There were two who came regularly, one as surly and hostile as the other, not given to conversation or imparting information when Dag asked for news of the world. They merely slammed down the tray of scanty food and the mug of water they brought and stomped out in complete silence.
He glanced at the one who stood before him now. This guard was older than the others; for it was traditional that only younger men who were in excellent physical condition had any interaction with prisoners, lest they try to escape. The guards were trained as relentlessly as soldiers so they could subdue any prisoners who attempted to overcome them. Indeed, they frequently were soldiers who had done their duty on the battlefield but were slightly past their prime for active serve, and ideally suited to guard dangerous prisoners.
Yet this one was older than Dag, who would soon turn fifty. The man was slight of stature although somewhat plump, and his thinning hair bristled up around his head with the air of a rooster strutting his supremacy in the barnyard. Dag was now curious how this little man came to take the guard’s place and ventured to engage him in conversation.
To his surprise the guard looked at him with an air of expectancy before Dag uttered his first question.
“Tell me, what news of the Empire?” Dag asked.
He waited for the rebuff, but none came. Instead, the guard glanced around as if searching for hidden intruders and inched closer to Dag.
“Only bad news, bad news indeed,” he whispered.
He drew back and handed Dag his tray with his plate of stew and bread and a mug of water. He drew back, and then picked up the tray and gestured to a slip of paper underneath it. He put a finger to his lips and motioned for Dag to pick it up and read it. Dag did so at once.
“I am Odelius,” the note read. “I recognized you when you were brought in as a friend of Marcus Maximus. I have a history with him, and his lady once did a kindness for a friend of mine. One of your guards is sick, and I volunteered to take his place until he recovers. Prepare a message for me to take tomorrow and I will deliver it to whomever you wish.
“One precaution: do not speak to me when I come, for I do not know who may be listening.”
Tears sprang to Dag’s eyes, tears that were quickly wiped away. The kindness of this stranger overwhelmed him. He smiled gratefully at Odelius, who slipped a piece of blank paper with a quill and a small pot of ink out of the hanging sleeve of his robe, and placed them on the tray. Then he nodded and departed, leaving Dag in the darkness.
The next morning Dag drafted a note as the first light of dawn streamed through the high slit in the wall. He addressed it to the only person in Valerium he knew who could get another message sent: Justus Lucius. In the note he informed him of his imprisonment and requested that he send word somehow to Marcus Maximus. He did not ask that his family be told, for he knew how alarming such tidings would be to Judoc who already had so much to bear. Nor did he see how his son Dirk would be able to aid him at such a time, being young and rash, without knowledge of the world and how it worked.
Dag wished that he could get word somehow to Cort. Cort would be resourceful, he knew, even if he had to break into the dungeon somehow to get Dag out. The thought set Dag to examining the room in which he found himself. It was solidly surrounded by walls of stone, through which no crack was visible. He glanced up at the slit set high in the wall; the bars of iron were too strong to be bent, even if he could somehow reach them.
For a moment, Dag felt the depths of despair threaten to overwhelm him. He then upbraided himself. How many times had he escaped a brush with death through the goodness of Dominio? Surely He would not fail Dag now! And was not Odelius an answer to his prayers? Who knew whether he would be the instrument of Dag’s release?
And so Dag settled himself on his bench and waited patiently for Odelius to bring his morning tray and take his message to Justus Lucius.
At that moment, all of Potentus was assembled in the city square to hear the news pronounced by the Imperial Guards. They paraded through the streets of the city with a great fanfare, trumpets being blown before them as they preceded the new Emperor in his magnificent litter with silken draperies drawn back so that the crowds may gaze upon him.
Not all of the populace was pleased with the recent turn of events, some openly wondering what fate had befallen their beloved Emperor Urbanus.
“He was always robust, the picture of health,” one matron whispered to another. “How could he suddenly die in his sleep? Was it natural, or do you think he was helped out of this world?”
“Hush!” the other matron cautioned her. “We do not know, and any such accusations will only land you in the imperial dungeons. Do you wish such a fate? Then hush I say, or you will be there before nightfall.”
Just then a fanfare was sounded, and the attention of the crowds was directed to the Emperor Iacomus, who had now ascended to a great chair carved of gold which had been placed for him in the center of the square. He raised a hand for silence, then motioned to the Imperial Guards. One of them whipped out a scroll of parchment which he proceeded to read with great solemnity.
“All hail our great and royal Emperor, Iacomus! May he rule over us with length of years and joy of days. May he guide us as the stars guide the traveler on a winter’s night. All hail our great and royal Emperor, Iacomus!”
The crowds obediently burst into a storm of cries and gave the Emperor the Valerian salute. The second Imperial Guard then motioned for silence and produced another scroll from which he read the following pronouncement:
“It being our sacred duty to lead the people of Valerium, may it be known to all that the first duty of the people is to bow in reverence before their Emperor, who was sent on a divine mission to rule over and guide them. Hence from this day forward it will be considered an act of treason to engage in any sect, cult, or creed that places itself above the
station of our divine Emperor, and pledges allegiance to any other than him. Anyone found doing so shall be exiled, imprisoned, or put to death at the pleasure of the Emperor Iacomus, ruler of the Valeriun Empire.”
Chapter VIII
The Land of Healing
The days at sea flew by rapidly, and before Cort knew it August had come. He had enjoyed traveling with Siv and his mother, and they had reveled in the splash of the waves against the boat, the tang of the salty air, and the sight of the occasional playful porpoise that disported itself in leaps through the air alongside the ship. He and Siv lingered in the glorious sunsets, their arms wrapped around one another, and sighed in bliss at the beauty displayed before them.
The first few stops passed uneventfully: the ship merely pulled into harbor for a few hours to take on her cargo, and there was little time to go ashore longer than to stretch their legs briefly before time to embark again. Brit did not mind so much as Cort and Siv, but they were young and wished to explore before returning to sea once more.
One small island where the ship took on a load of spices intrigued both of them. It was not large, having a circumference of perhaps five miles, with nothing unusual about its golden sands lapped by turquoise waves and palm trees swaying gently in a warm breeze. But the air was redolent with the fragrances of cinnamon, cloves, and other aromas that Cort could not put a name to. He inhaled deeply, feeling he had never smelled anything more delightful, an opinion in which Siv heartily concurred.
Their stay was only for an hour, however, and they quickly continued their voyage. The ship carried them briskly from one destination to another taking them south to tropical lands unknown even to Cort, and then on a northern course once more.
It was on a day late in August when gray clouds raced overhead that they called at the small island country of Darian, a land where distant mountains tinged with purple mist beckoned the traveler to come and explore its glories. From the shore the land looked desolate, but the Captain informed Cort that the inhabitants lived further inland, as the gales that plagued the coast at certain seasons made living conditions harsh and unpleasant, especially in the dead of winter.