by L. M. Roth
Cadeyrn returned from his circling of the flock. It was his custom to walk the perimeter of sheep and count heads before they settled for the night. Too often a frisky lamb would wander from the flock, sometimes leading others astray and exposing all of them to danger if there were any wolves about.
Now he warmed his hands at the crackling fire. A log fell with a hiss that shot a spark into the crisp air. Cadeyrn’s craggy face was momentarily lit with a ruddy glow as the flames billowed into new life.
“Cold,” he observed to Marcus.
He wondered why Cadeyrn felt a need to state the obvious. Marcus knew it was cold; he felt no need for the fact to be put into words. He saw this as yet another proof of the lack of intelligence of the people he had been forced to live among.
He glanced at Cadeyrn who was clearly waiting for a response, and realized that he was simply trying to converse with Marcus.
Marcus now stared at Cadeyrn. Why should he, the refined and cultured son of the commander of the vast legions of the Empire, have discourse with this coarse and illiterate sheep herder? The five months of bondage that Marcus had endured had not endeared Cadeyrn to him. Did this man not comprehend who he was?
Cadeyrn returned Marcus’ stare. For a long moment they took each other’s measure, as if silently daring the other to blink or look away first. It was suddenly more than Marcus could bear.
“Do you know who I am? Who my father is?” he demanded.
Cadeyrn merely shrugged.
“My father is Valerius Maximus, the Commander of the Imperial Army of Valerium! And in Valerium an inferior does not address one of superior rank until he is addressed first!”
Marcus tossed his wavy dark hair and sniffed his affront. Cadeyrn continued to look at him.
“Oh,” he replied, and he turned his back on Marcus and stoked up the fire.
Marcus had expected a more dramatic response. In Valerium such a statement of superiority would have prompted an apology from the offending party, and he was puzzled by the Eirini’s cool dismissal of him. It angered him beyond reason; suddenly all the bitterness of his captivity erupted from his lips.
“How dare you turn your back on me!”
Marcus grabbed Cadeyrn by the arm. Cadeyrn whirled around. He grabbed Marcus’ arm and pulled it behind his back.
“It is you, Valerian, who forget who you are addressing!”
Marcus threw his weight forward onto his right hip. With a mighty heave he sent Cadeyrn flying over his head. Cadeyrn landed with a sickening thud. For a moment he lay stunned.
Then, a howl pierced the night. Not ten feet away stood a snarling, angry black wolf that had crept up on them like a ghost while the two had been fighting.
With a speed that took Marcus’ breath away the wolf leapt straight at Cadeyrn, who lay defenseless on the ground.
Faster than thought Marcus grabbed the wooden staff that lay by the fire. He passed one end through the flames and jabbed it at the oncoming wolf. It singed his snout and the wolf howled and whirled around on Marcus. Marcus brandished the flaming staff at the wolf again, and as it opened its mouth wide he plunged it down its throat and stabbed the beast, knocking it to the ground. With one foot on its belly he continued to twist the staff from side to side in its gaping jaws, searing its throat and suffocating it. Finally, the wolf lay still and struggled no more.
Panting for breath, Marcus turned to Cadeyrn. He helped him to his feet. Cadeyrn stared at Marcus; then he smiled. He held out his hand.
“I thank you. In return for saving my life, you are free to go.”
It was now Marcus who stared.
“Do you mean that? I am free?”
“Yes. Go. You saved my life. I owe you yours. Go.”
Marcus did not wait for Cadeyrn to change his mind. Cadeyrn raised the staff in salute, as he had seen Valerian soldiers do. Marcus hesitated, then lifted his arm in the air with the hand extended in the custom of the Eirini.
Then he flew down the wind-swept hilltop to freedom.
Chapter IV
The Homecoming
“Keep going, just keep going,” the words beat through Marcus’ brain. “Almost there, almost there,” he panted.
Numb with fatigue, every step was an agony, every breath seemed to pierce his lungs with sharp stabbing pain. He recalled the words of Valerius of how solders on long marches forced themselves to focus on something other than the actual trek, which helped to make the trudging more endurable. Due to the necessity of secrecy when on the move they could not engage in conversation, so they used a variety of hand signals to communicate with one another, and had advanced to the point where they could even speak back and forth through their hands to while away the monotony of their hike.
But Marcus had no one to exchange signals with, and it had been a long journey from Erinia. Having no money to pay the boat fare across the sea which was the shortest path, he had been forced to take the land route, by far the longer way. Through the bare woods of November he had wandered uneasily, the trees shorn of the foliage that would have covered him from inquisitive eyes. He felt as naked as the trees as every step upon withered leaves that crackled underfoot exposed him to the keen ear of any foe, human or otherwise, that would track him to his death.
For he knew that to be seen was to risk capture at the hands of the Eirini, a fierce people who looked on all foreigners to their lands as an enemy, and one who would not be tolerated to live. In Eirinia were other terrors as well, the legend of strange, unearthly beings that the Eirini claimed walked at night. Marcus gave no credence to such tales, yet he found himself looking uneasily over his shoulder at every snapping of a twig, every slight breeze unaccounted for by the actual flow of air currents.
Once he slept near a small mound in a thick copse of trees and heard a low moaning sound that he nervously attributed to the night wind, only to realize that the night was still without any breeze to disturb the air. From whence came the unearthly sound then? Was there some truth after all to the outlandish fables of the Eirini, who said that others walked at night, taking back the land they had roamed so freely before the advent of men to their domain? It was not a thought that brought Marcus comfort as he lay alone in the dark wood…
And after he entered the borders of Valerium he must beware of any who would report his presence to Aurora, for surely the seizure and enslavement of the son of General Valerius Maximus was known to all the citizens of the Empire by now. Marcus hoped to make it safely home to the arms of his mother and father before Aurora learned of his escape and return.
Once he had encountered a small troop of Valerian soldiers. Fortunately he had spotted them before they saw him. He had heard their approach, and quickly climbed a pine tree whose branches lay close enough to the ground for him to grasp. The needles pricked his skin, but all other species of trees were bare and would have exposed him to the soldiers. He scrambled up to the highest limbs his weight would hold, and there he hid, having drawn his gray cloak about him and the hood over his head and around his face, hoping he blended in successfully with the dark gray trunk. For what seemed an eternity he waited as they passed under his hiding place, one by one through the forest, fifty of them in all.
Their leader stopped abruptly.
“This looks a good place to rest for a while and break our fast,” he declared as he slung his pack to the ground.
Marcus inwardly groaned. It was just his cursed luck!
“Aye, indeed it does,” assented his second in command.
For an hour the soldiers sat under the trees as they ate a lunch of cheese, bread, and dried fruit, the standard fare for an army on the move. The only meat they consumed was what they caught and killed in the forest. It was evident they had not done any hunting this day, or had eaten some earlier in the day.
As the soldiers ate they talked, and Marcus strained his ear to hear their conversation, hoping to hear news from his homeland.
“Another week and we should be in Potentus,” one of them re
marked.
“And that signals the end of freedom; I would rather quell a rebellion in Eirinia and face their savages than have to endure life in the shadow of the Palace now that Emperor Beatus no longer sits on the throne.”
“Hush!” whispered the leader. “Who knows who is listening and may report back to her! Even the soldiers in the army these days may be her spies. Do you want to hang as a traitor?”
“Of a truth, I do not! But how I long for the old days before this evil Empress took power,” the offending soldier whispered in return.
“Then I suggest you keep your ears open and your mouth closed,” the leader admonished him.
Nothing further was said except for some desultory remarks on the weather and reunion with their families, and the troop gathered their gear and resumed their trek, much to the relief of Marcus. Only after he judged them well out of range, some half an hour after they left, did he dare to let himself down from the tree.
He had lived primarily on berries and nuts. Once he found an apple orchard and filled the pockets of his robe with as many apples as he could carry. On another occasion he had surprised a rabbit which he quickly killed with his dagger and roasted over a furtive fire. But most of the woodland animals fled at his approach, and meat was a forgotten staple of his diet. Even the mutton he had partaken of with predictable monotony at the table of Cadeyrn would be welcome now. It would be good to reach his father’s villa and once more eat a hearty meal!
He began to climb the hill that signaled the end of his journey. Once he ascended the summit he would behold his father’s estate on the opposite hilltop. It always lifted his spirits and filled his heart with pride to view the magnificent villa with its stone walls that encompassed it giving it a look of invincibility. Like a fortress it looked, rising up with such an air of impregnable power in its granite construction that it seemed to scoff at any challenge to its supremacy.
“One, two, three!” Marcus exclaimed as he reached the summit.
Ah, there it was! The sunlight struck the silvery quartz in the gray-black stone of the walls, making it shimmer like starlight in the darkness of an autumn night. At once dreamlike and dominant, it was truly a sight to behold.
But as Marcus fairly flew down the hill and slowly began to climb the opposite one, he realized something was amiss. At this time of day the villa should be abuzz with the sounds of activity: his father returning from the army compound to spend the evening with his family, his mother coming home after calling on her friends, the slaves arriving from errands in the marketplace, friends alighting from chariots, calling on the Maximus family to share an evening banquet.
But it was silent. No sound of voices calling to one another, no clip clop of horses hooves or the rolling of chariot wheels, no indication of occupancy to be found. He heard no signs of life from within the walls.
Marcus stopped. He took a deep breath and attempted to slow down the wild beating of his heart. Never in his life had silence so frightened him…
He stood up to his full height and squared his shoulders. He took one more deep breath, then lifted one foot, then the other. One foot, then the other. On and on he plodded. Up, up, and up further still. Each step was excruciating in his agony of weariness, yet he soldiered on until he reached the summit.
On reaching the top, he paused for a long moment to inhale and exhale slowly, until the beating of his heart slowed down, and his breaths came more regularly. He then collected himself and proceeded for the last leg of the journey. He walked for a good half mile until at last he arrived at the long drive that led to the gate. It was locked, with iron chains bound firmly around the posts, holding it securely closed.
Marcus stared at the chained gates. It could not be! Not after longing for home and family for so many months!
“No,” he moaned. “No!”
He flung himself at the gate in an attempt to break the hinge. The gate swung slightly inward, but the chains held it fast and it bounced back when he stepped back.
Foolishly he hammered on the gate with his hands, bruising them and wasting his strength.
“Can anyone hear me?” he cried out. “Is anyone there?”
His only answer was an ominous silence.
“No! No!” he pounded.
Then he slumped to the ground as agony swept over him. So it was true, then. His father’s estate had been seized on the day he was taken captive. Not even a slave was to be seen or heard, which meant the Empress had taken them or had them sold.
And his father? His mother? What of them? Were they also sold into slavery as he had been? Or had a worse fate befallen them?
Chapter V
News of An Astonishing Nature
How long he lay there slumped at the gate, Marcus never knew. He was frozen with shock, unable to stand or to reason, as an acute pain in the pit of his stomach grew, threatening to engulf him and bury him in the depths of despair.
He felt the burning rays of the setting sun wash over him. Somewhere a crow cawed, seeming to mock his distress. He lay exhausted, as the time passed and the sun warmed him. All of the events of the last months rambled through his brain; his seizure, his slavery, the silence of his homecoming, none of it making sense.
At last he stirred, realizing that he must go on. He must solve the mystery of the fate of Valerius and Honoria, and find them if he could. He knew that night was coming on and he needed shelter and food. But where to go? Where could he be safe from the wrath and revenge of the Empress Aurora?
He could go to Felix. The Lucius estate was adjacent to his own. Surely they must know what had happened!
Yes, but what if he endangered the Lucius family? Was there some crime charged against Valerius and his family that would attach itself to any who assisted him? Would any who aided Marcus live to regret it?
Marcus lay still and thought about the Lucius family. Justus was one of the leading men of the city of Potentus, the capital of the Valeriun Empire. Although not as renowned as Valerius Maximus with his daring feats of military exploits, Justus was wise, honest, and fair, and was held high in the esteem of all who knew him. He could always be counted upon to make a just and sensible decision, and many of the town’s leading citizens came to him to settle disputes.
His wife, Silvia, was a warm and hospitable woman who enjoyed filling their spacious villa with guests. She was gifted with a remarkable flair for hospitality, and succeeded in making each of her guests feel as though they blessed her by gracing her with their company. Many long hours had Marcus spent in the Lucius home, and Silvia was in many ways as another mother to him. She was also one of his mother’s dearest friends and closest confidantes.
Marcus dreaded the idea of endangering Felix or his family by asking them to shelter him. He considered his options. And realized he had none. He must find out what had happened to his father and mother. Felix was sure to know. He lay in the dark and made a plan…
Felix would surely maintain his daily routine. No doubt he would go to the gymnasium and spar with a new partner, then finish at the baths. Therefore, Marcus would lie in wait for him along the road and intercept him.
Now that he had planned a course of action, there was naught to do but wait out the night. So Marcus crawled into a corner created by the edge of the gate and an adjacent boulder. In the shelter of the rock, he nestled down out of the wind and, worn out with his long trek home, promptly fell asleep.
Marcus stirred. The wind had abated during the night and he had slept surprisingly well. Slowly he sat up and stretched, astonished at how stiff he felt. Surely he needed a good sparring bout with Felix, followed by the baths. How he longed for the baths!
The Valerian people prided themselves on their cleanliness as well as their martial spirit. The local bath house was a stately edifice. Within its walls were several rooms of varying functions. Any who could pay the fee was welcome, be they rich or poor. The only distinction made was to separate the men from the women.
Marcus liked to start his dail
y ritual in the thermal bath. Here mineral springs that flowed beneath the bath house had been channeled by means of pipes into the room. The warm salty water seemed to penetrate his very bones and his muscles, aching from his workout, were soothed. Then Marcus and Felix liked to move on to the steam room, where the men sat in their towels discussing the news of the day. A sense of camaraderie prevailed as all partook of the discourse, each one offering his opinion. From the steam room they ambled to the cooling room, where cold water invigorated and refreshed them, reviving them to start the day.
Marcus started out of his reverie. Felix was walking down the road and would soon go past his hiding place. Marcus watched Felix as he approached. He was still the same, Marcus grinned as he shook his head.
Possessed of a cheerful heart that frequently expressed itself in droll comments on anything that struck him as ridiculous, Felix could always be depended upon to lighten Marcus’ mood when gloomy, and lift his heart when despondent. He also possessed a keen intelligence that Marcus frequently marveled at, alight with curiosity to seek out new experiences, and increase his knowledge of the world. If there was a mystery to be solved, an adventure to be taken, Felix could be trusted to sniff it out and pursue it as surely as a bloodhound hot on the scent of its quarry.
Felix’s crop of auburn curls bounced as his steps sprang along the way. His narrow face was not handsome in the classic mold so prized by his culture in the same way that Marcus’ was, but his vitality and exuberance shone through and transformed his features, lighting them with a radiance that was attractive with a charm all its own. His lean body fairly skipped as he made his way. He whistled a tune, then burst into song.