by L. M. Roth
“Erat tu, mea dona alba amat…”
The song was cut off as Felix spotted Marcus. He gasped and paled, clutching his side as if in pain. He staggered and fell to one knee.
“But, you’re dead! You were assumed to be dead!”
Marcus flew to him.
“Felix, it is all right. It really is me! And I am no ghost. I am alive!”
Felix blinked his eyes rapidly. He breathed hard in panting gasps. Marcus helped him to his feet. Felix looked at him as if beholding an apparition that might vanish before his gaze.
“Why did you think I was dead?” Marcus inquired.
“It’s what we were told,” Felix replied, his breathing becoming less ragged as his composure began to return.
“No. I was taken captive and sold into slavery. But I am not dead!”
Felix smiled wanly, the color still drained from his face. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He shook his head slightly, then turned to face Marcus.
“Well. But you gave me a shock, my good fellow. It’s not every day the dead return!”
“Felix, what of my father and mother? Where are they? What happened here?”
Felix looked away from Marcus’ imploring gaze. He glanced at the ground. He raised his head, opened his mouth, then shut it again.
“Felix…”
“Well, it’s the Empress, actually. She appears to have some old score to settle with your father, and she has taken her revenge.”
“Score? What score? Where is my father? Where is my mother?”
Felix at last looked directly at Marcus. He turned to him and gripped his shoulder, as if to brace him.
“They are imprisoned. The estate was confiscated by the government. And we were told that you had been killed in the initial attack.”
Chapter VI
A Stunning Revelation
Marcus sat as one stunned by a heavy blow. What, what could his father possibly have done to the Empress to engender such an act? Revenge, Felix had said. But, revenge for what?
“Felix, what old score could the Empress possibly have with my father? We have never had any contact with the Imperial family apart from the usual duties my father’s position demands, and the occasional entertainment that my parents were invited to partake of. What could he possibly have done to offend her?”
Felix gave an exaggerated shrug of his lean shoulders.
“I know not. But you know how unpredictable Aurora is. What can you expect from a woman who refused to wear mourning when her husband passed away this past spring? And that happened scarcely a month after her father’s death. Yet I hear that scarcely a week has not passed without its banquet or revelry since she took the throne. It would appear that she is a woman in celebration, not mourning! Never have I seen less respect for the dead.”
Marcus pondered on Felix’s pronouncement.
“You are right, Felix. Even when her father the Emperor was alive Aurora was known for her love of feasts and pageants. But to continue after the loss of two members of her family so closely together is incomprehensible!”
Felix’s laugh illuminated his face as the shake of his head set his curls bouncing. He now seemed recovered from his shock at beholding Marcus, returned as if from the dead, and rejoicing at their reunion.
“Oh, no mystery there, my good fellow! Aurora simply hated her husband, all know that! Her marriage to Liberius was arranged for her by her father. It is said that she hated him so much that she kept him at arm’s length during the whole of their marriage. Why else were no children born of their union? True, he found solace with other women, mainly with the wives of good servants of the Empire who turned a blind eye to the Imperial son-in-law poaching on their territory. But it was Aurora’s coldness that was a contributing factor!”
“Still,” Marcus puzzled, “what can she possibly have against my father? And why should my mother be imprisoned as well?”
Felix clapped a hand on Marcus’ shoulder.
“Marcus, do not weary yourself in the contemplation of the reasoning of women. As for myself, I have given it up as a lost cause!”
Marcus chortled.
“You are possibly right, Felix. And speaking of women,” he paused, suddenly shy, “how is Tullia? Does she also think I am dead?”
Felix stopped in mid-stride. He turned his head as if his attention was caught by the appearance of a thrush that suddenly flew past.
“Tullia, yes, well, that’s just it, my good fellow. Tullia, as did all of us, believes you are dead.”
“Well, then, I must be sure to let her know of her mistake at once!” Marcus exclaimed.
“Oh, but she has already left for Moldiva for the winter season with her mother. You know how they like to partake of the refinement and revelry to be had in Lycenium during the cold months that we lack in Valerium. So you cannot let her know you are alive unless you send her a message. And besides, Marcus, do not forget that you were seized and sold into slavery once already. Would it be wise to announce the news of your return so soon? You are in danger still.”
Marcus considered the words of his friend.
“But, Felix, I cannot see the danger of telling Tullia I am safe. Surely she must be told there is no cause for grief!”
“Are you so sure she is grieving, Marcus? Perhaps she is not,” Felix bristled.
“What are you saying? What are you telling me, Felix?”
Marcus stared at him.
“Only that you may have read more into Tullia’s attention to you than was justified.”
Marcus felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He dreaded to ask, yet he must know. He stopped in the road and grabbed the arm of his friend.
“Felix, are you saying that Tullia has transferred her affection to another? Is that what you are trying to tell me?”
“Well, in a word, yes. She has.”
Felix looked uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet and looked at the ground.
Marcus took a deep breath. He opened his mouth, but he scarcely dared to frame the word, for a dawning suspicion had clutched at his heart.
“Who?”
Felix cleared his throat and raised his eyes to look directly at Marcus.
“Well, actually…to me.”
Felix paused and looked away from the stunned gaze of Marcus, from the wounded eyes of his friend.
“After all, Marcus, it was I who knew her first. And to be perfectly honest, I did feel that an attachment was growing between us before you caught her eye with your looks like a god come to Earth, and started spouting poetry to her! I am hardly to blame if she turned back to me once you were out of the picture. Can I help it if her affection is so easily transferred from one to the other?”
Marcus made an effort to recover himself. He did not want to be ungracious to his friend, who clearly believed that he had found favor with Tullia. Yet he felt that Tullia had truly loved him, Marcus, and no other.
He raised his head and slowly exhaled, drained from all of the shocks he had endured upon his return home.
“Perhaps you are right. Perhaps a woman whose affection is so easily given is not worthy of either of us!”
He spat out the last words in a rush of anger as he struggled to contain the rising tide of his emotions.
“Do not say that of her, Marcus. It would be unfair. Say, perhaps, that one can only appreciate the luminosity of the moon when the glory of the sun is not there to eclipse it, and only then does one realize that the moon guides one’s way in the dark when the sun is absent. I was a lesser light in the firmament compared to your handsome face and dashing appearance. Maybe she could not see me when you were on her horizon, because you blinded her to me as surely as the moon is hidden from view in the full light of day.”
“Perhaps,” Marcus half-snickered on the word as bitterness invaded his heart. Was it not enough to lose his home, his freedom and his parents without facing the humiliation of seeing the woman he hoped to wed so quickly turn to another? Was Tullia truly so
fickle, so false? Or was Felix mistaken and Tullia had merely turned to him for comfort after the supposed death of Marcus? Truly that must be the case, for he could not be mistaken in the love he believed Tullia to bear for himself!
But Marcus remembered a more pressing matter at hand. The question of whom Tullia loved or did not love would have to wait. If indeed he decided that such a seemingly fickle maiden was worthy of his heart at all!
“Let us not speak any more of Tullia at present, Felix. The urgent question to be answered is how to free my father and mother from the hand of the Empress. What shall we do?”
Chapter VII
In the Palace of the Empress Aurora
Her eyes were opaque, full of secrets. Marcus had never beheld eyes like hers before. But where before had he seen just that shade of green, neither emerald nor its paler glory, peridot? Ah, yes, his father had once brought back from a campaign the army had waged in a far away land a stone of just that shade. Jade, Valerius called it.
He had bought it from a merchant who had traveled to a fabled land that was reported to have a greater kingdom and emperor than even Valerium possessed. In that land this stone was held to be very valuable and reputed to have magical properties, Valerius explained to Marcus. Of course, he did not hold with such nonsense, but his fancy had been taken by the stone. He had placed it in his library with his other objects of great worth.
Marcus now recalled the quality of that jade stone. It did not sparkle as did other gems of his acquaintance. Instead, it seemed almost mysterious, its substance being rather enigmatic, not quite accessible somehow.
Now as he gazed at Aurora he felt that same sense of perplexity, as though here was a mystery that he would never comprehend.
Felix had violently objected to Marcus’ suggestion that he petition an audience with the Empress. He was appalled at the very idea, and reminded Marcus that it was this very woman who had ordered him sold into slavery. She would most likely not be very pleased at his return!
Marcus reflected on this statement, and realized his friend was probably right. The late Emperor Beatus, Aurora’s father, had been a fair and just ruler, one who cared for the welfare of his people and the prosperity of his Empire. No matter had been too small for his notice, no question of justice too trivial for his resolution. The populace had loved him, and even the slaves had breathed easier, sensing the kindness in this good and honest man.
His daughter Aurora, however, proved to be altogether different; appearing at first sight to be a frivolous woman who enjoyed gaiety and festivities, she proved to be a tyrant who lashed out at any slight, real or imagined, and who was quick to execute punishment on the hapless victims of her malice and offended vanity.
But Marcus desired more than anything to determine the reason for his father’s arrest and the seizure of his estate. He would not rest until he had an answer from the Empress. And, he thought grimly as he strode into her courtyard, the explanation had better be a valid one!
He had been challenged at the gate by the guard, who nearly dropped his sword in stunned amazement when Marcus gave his name.
“How have you, a lad not yet full grown, returned unharmed from Eirinia, from that savage land and its even fiercer people? There must be more to you than appears on the surface, my lord!”
For a moment Marcus was torn between the desire to bask in the compliment to his manhood, or to reprimand the soldier for his impertinence at confessing his surprise at his survival. Surely nothing less should be expected of the son of the great General Valerius Maximus! He prudently decided, however, that any display of temper on his part might very well endanger his parents, so he swallowed his pride and informed the soldier of his wish for an audience with the Empress.
The guard sent word to a page to convey his request. A full quarter of an hour passed before his return. In the interval Marcus took stock of his surroundings. He had seen the palace before, but only at a distance. His mother and father had attended banquets and other royal entertainments here, but Marcus had been left at home as befitted his youth. Not until he had seen eighteen summers would he be granted an invitation into the imperial palace.
In truth, he found it forbidding. Emperor Cassianus, who had overseen the erecting of it, had taken the notion to have the entirety of it constructed of black stone. True, there was a vein of rose that ran through it, not a pink hue, but a red with a tinge of purple, like blood. Marcus in some way found this even more unsettling than the black iron gate that had clanged shut behind him as he entered the courtyard upon the return of the page. The black iron was evident also in the benches scattered hither and yon throughout the courtyard.
But none of this prepared his eyes for his first sight of the great hall. Throughout this vast room pillars of black marble graced a floor that consisted of squares of the same black granite streaked with rose as the exterior walls, alternating with square tiles of deep rose-red marble. As Marcus crossed the alternating tiles, he felt as though he traversed a huge chessboard, with himself in the role of a pawn. It was a game he had often played with his father Valerius explaining the strategy of it that many generals used in mapping a military campaign.
With an increasing sense of dread growing in his heart, Marcus had been escorted to the Empress by two of her retainers. As he walked between them he stole furtive glances at them from the corners of his eyes. One was tall, thin and silent with hooded eyes and a face that looked as though he had just bitten a very sour lemon. The other was short, plump and had an oily face, and a laugh that seemed oilier still.
“Now then, young man, there are a few rules which it would be wise for you to heed when dealing with the Empress,” smirked the short one, whose name was Odelius.
“Yes, most wise, indeed,” agreed the tall one, Iosephus, in a voice like gravel rolling down a rock face.
“Remember!” Odelius clapped his hands. Marcus stood inadvertently to attention.
“You must never simply ask a favor of the Empress. You must first declare yourself breathless, indeed awestruck, at the sight of beauty such as hers. You must declare that never could you have dreamed that beauty such as hers existed. And you must declare that simply to be in the presence of beauty such as hers must surely satisfy every desire of your heart. To be plain, you must first grovel at her feet before asking any favor.”
“Yes, grovel. She simply adores it,” Iosephus concurred.
“But, why must I act in such a manner? She cannot believe that I would flatter the woman who imprisoned my parents and had me taken captive, to be sold into slavery. She cannot expect me to fawn over her!”
“Can she not?” Odelius huffed. “Why do you think your parents were imprisoned in the first place? It was because of..”
“Ahem,” Iosephus cleared his throat. “The walls have ears, you know. If you wish to keep yours as well as your tongue, I would suggest you say no more!”
Odelius opened his mouth, then clamped it shut. He paused a moment, twisting his mouth to one side. Then he smiled at Marcus. It was not, however, a smile that was conducive to inspire warm feelings of good will from Marcus. The smile was forced, and Odelius’ eyes looked sideways at Iosephus.
“Perhaps you are right, Iosephus. Why should I keep General Maximus company in his prison?”
He turned to Maximus with his smirk once more adorning his countenance.
“You just remember and pay heed to what I told you. Remember! No one offends the Empress Aurora. And if you are not impressed by her, she will most certainly be offended!”
Chapter VIII
The Order of the Empress
At first sight of the Empress, he truly was impressed. A flaming cascade of curls framed a face of ivory as fragile as the blossoms in his father’s rose garden. A dainty nose and sweet bow-shaped mouth accentuated the flower-like allusion.
But on closer inspection Marcus could not help but notice that the ivory skin was undeniably lined, and threads of silver wound through the flaming red locks. Still, there
remained the mysterious beauty of her unfathomable eyes, the color accentuated by the robe of green satin she wore, with curious hanging sleeves that added to her air of mystery. Yet, the remarkable eyes were encircled in a network of fine wrinkles.
After her initial shock that Marcus had somehow escaped his bondage, Aurora clearly waited for some acknowledgment of her beauty. But Marcus remained silent.
“Does something ail you, young man? Some malady of the tongue, perhaps? You are strangely silent!”
Aurora pursed her lips in a pout. She veiled her eyes, then looked up from under her lids at Marcus. Not once did she move her head, but kept it absolutely still upon her long, slender neck.
Perhaps, Marcus thought, it would have been difficult to move her head at all under the weight of the golden diadem bedecked with rubies that Aurora bore. Strange, that the flame of her hair did not clash with the red rubies. Rubies as red as blood…
“No, Your Grace, I am not ill. At least, not with a physical malady. Yet I do ail with a longing for my home and my parents!”
Aurora’s eyes flashed without warning as suddenly as a thunderbolt in a clear summer sky.
“Take heed young man or you may join your parents! It amazes me that you are even here in this place. How did you escape from the Eirini? For they are a fierce and savage people. Did you fight many men in your escape? Tell me all!”
Aurora leaned slightly toward Marcus, a gleam of interest in her eyes, despite her pique at the affront to her vanity.
“I did not fight any one. I saved the life of my master and he freed me, as befitted an honorable man.”
“And you, Marcus, are you an honorable man?”
He made an attempt to curb the anger suddenly roused by the question she had put to him.
“Am I an honorable man?” he asked, softly at first.