by L. M. Roth
Marcus now pondered his father‘s account of how Lycenium came to be. Many centuries ago, he said, a young man named Lysandros from the Isles of Solone had set out to make his fortune. He left home, family, and friends in a desire to seek new lands, and to take whatever adventure came to him. He traveled the river that ran from Solone to the mainland, and from the mainland to the Mountains of Moldiva. Here, the beauty of the majestic range of snow-capped peaks and lakes of crystalline water captured his fancy, and here in a land not yet inhabited he decided to settle.
For a year Lysandros lived alone in his mountain paradise, breathing in the pure air and drinking from the clear lakes which brought forth fish of many varieties which provided the staple of his diet. He thrilled to the music of birdsong in the thick forests, and the rush of water tumbling over the rocks in the streams. He did not miss civilization with all the noise and bustle that accompanied it, yet he was lonely at times for the sound of another human voice.
At last a day came when a caravan from the East traveled through his isolated dwelling. He had never seen such a sight as the train of carts drawn by animals the like of which he had never beheld. The beasts were huge, with four legs ending in cloven hoofs, and their massive heads were adorned with a rack of horns, one on each side of their heads.
The band of travelers stopped by the little hut he had erected for his own dwelling, and asked permission to camp on his land.
“Aye, gladly I give it,” Lysandros assented. “But tell me from where you have come and where you are bound.”
A portly little man who was clearly their leader bowed his head and eagerly nodded it.
“We hail from Neaphalet, in the land of Berrun in the North country. We journey to the great Plain of Tormoth, in the South, where we may pasture our flocks in the cold months. For there the climate is warmer and we may feed our herds until the spring calls us home.”
Lysandros gave his permission for the convoy to camp for a day or two to give their animals rest. It would prove to be an event, however, that would change his life in a way he had never anticipated. For in that small caravan he encountered a young lady of serene beauty with a gentle voice who quickly captured his heart. Her name was Ceniah, and her father Ramah was the Chief of the tribe. Lysandros soon made his love for Ceniah known to her father, and asked for her hand in marriage. Ramah was reluctant to bestow his daughter’s hand to a strange young man who lived in isolation with only the birds for companionship and who depended on the forests and lakes for his daily food.
In Neaphalet, Ramah explained, was a great city, where the small and the great could meet together in a harmony of spirit. There could be found wise men who held the key to the mysteries of life, and tradesmen who offered their wares in the marketplaces, where every need of the soul and body could find fulfillment. Although he and his family chose the life of nomads, wandering with their herds according to the seasons, their true home was in Neaphalet, high in the Mountains of Sharmalah. If Lysandros could provide a comparable home for Ceniah, Ramah said, then he would give his daughter in marriage.
Lysandros had no desire to go back to the land of his fathers. He found his soul deeply rooted in his mountain fastness. Yet to win the hand of Ceniah, he would have to build a city which she would be pleased to call her home.
“I will build a city for Ceniah,” Lysandros promised Ramah. “Give me one year, and I will change the landscape of this lonely dwelling, and mayhap I will win your daughter.”
Ramah consented. He and his little band would travel on, but they would return in one year to Lysandros. If he had fulfilled his pledge Ceniah would be his.
The caravan took their leave of him and quiet descended once again on his solitary dwelling. Then Lysandros took out his little boat from which he had traveled from Solone, and taking the river, returned to the home of his father.
Striding into his father’s house, he was met with cries of joy. His father Bion was delighted at the sight of the young man who had taken leave of him the year before. Lysandros had grown into his full height, and his arms were strong from labor, his eye clear, and his gaze steady. A feast was held in his honor, which was attended by all of his friends and family.
The following day, Lysandros requested an audience of his father.
“A matter of great importance has arisen, my father,” he spoke earnestly.
Bion inclined his head as he listened. Lysandros told him of his love for Ceniah and Ramah’s demand. Throughout his narrative, Bion kept silent, carefully studying the gravity of his son’s countenance.
“As you see, Father,” Lysandros concluded, “I am in need of a great deal of money. I must build a fair city for my love if I am to win her. I need your help.”
Bion did not answer at once. He fastened his eyes on Lysandros; then nodded his head.
“My son,” he began, “when you left here to seek your fortune on your own you made your own way in the world. You denied yourself the customary gift of money that all young men of your station receive upon their entry into manhood, nor did you take any money on your journey. Therefore, I would now offer you that which you declined, and more than that in addition, as interest accumulated in the interim. Indeed, I will give you one-quarter of your inheritance from my estate if this is your desire. With that gift you may initiate the building of your city.”
Lysandros was overjoyed, for it was no paltry sum that his father offered him. Bion’s holdings were immense, for he owned not only their splendid dwelling, but an entire fleet of ships that traveled the seas on every side of Solon’s shores. Surely he could build a city to satisfy the demands of Ramah and win his fair daughter!
Bion and Lysandros covenanted together: he would receive one-quarter of his inheritance now to finance his venture. The deal was made, and they clasped their hands in agreement.
Lysandros then wandered throughout the Isles of Solone, seeking the services of carpenters and masons to travel with him to his mountain home. He also inquired of the merchants in the city, asking of any with a spirit of adventure who would wish to set up their wares in a new land. Few were eager to set out so far from Solone, but Lysandros told them of the great river, and how it would still connect them to Solone many leagues away. He spoke of the towering forests and lakes so clear they reflected the azure sky. There also, he said, was a road that traveled from East to West that brought caravans from faraway lands. Who knew what riches they carried, or what merchandise they desired to purchase? Why, they might open a new market where none had ever been founded!
The enthusiasm of the merchants was stirred, and there were some who agreed to accompany Lysandros. They set out with him and the carpenters and masons on an autumn day brilliant with sunshine and sparkling with the anticipation of a bright future.
When they came to his dwelling in the mountains, they fell to work with a hearty will. Quickly they must build before the storms of winter arrived. Before the moon had completed her monthly cycle, they had erected the stone walls of a city. Within those walls rose houses where the merchants would dwell, and other houses where people would settle. The merchants set up their wares in the town square, and word of their trade soon spread like a wildfire in the heart of the forest. Soon people from villages made their way to the new city to sample the goods offered.
In just a few short months the town was populated by those who were weary of living in isolation in the forests, or those who wanted to offer their services to the fledgling city. Soon a baker had set up shop in the square, and the smell of newly baked bread permeated the premises. Some of the masons and carpenters decided to make the little city their home, and they built their own houses of stone or wood. From Solone itself came adventurers who decided to pioneer in unexplored territory. Some of these included the learned, with philosophers and scholars among them. They brought their own volumes of ancient scrolls filled with wisdom passed down from the ages, and made them available to any who desired them. A library was erected, and the inhabitants made use of
it; for Solone was famed for the erudition of its inhabitants.
When Ramah and his caravan returned in the autumn, they were amazed at the transformation of the landscape. Gone was the isolated hut that Lysandros had called home. In its place was a fine villa of stone filled with the finest luxuries of art, furniture, and every precious object the heart could covet. For Bion had made good his promise to give his son one-quarter of his inheritance, as well as the sum Lysandros had initially declined.
Now a wealthy man, Lysandros employed his own merchants who brought goods into the city via the river. In the town square was a bazaar that sold every conceivable luxury. Artists and actors, singers and musicians had made their way to the burgeoning city, and the clear air rang with song and voices uplifted in the emoting of drama.
Ramah was satisfied; his daughter would be sheltered within the confines of civilization. He gave Ceniah to Lysandros on a lovely autumn evening when the moon was full and glowing, and the vividly colored leaves drifted gently to the ground. Tenderly they drank from the loving cup together, and christened their new-found city Lycenium, in a mingling of their own names.
It was not long before travelers from the East ventured to the new city, and many settled there and added their mysticism, while other merchants brought their exotic wares from lands further East. Lycenium became known as the city where East meets West, and the story of its birth and beginning was one that stirred the imagination of many a romantic.
Marcus recalled previous visits to the city, and how he and his family had spent many pleasant days in this elegant haven of civilization. Indeed, it was a favorite retreat for Valerium’s military who could relax in Lycenium in a manner that was not possible in Valerium. Few could truly relax in the shadow of the Imperial Palace, where many spies ran hither and yon to carry tales back to its walls; nor was there to be found in Valerium itself the wealth of sophistication and learning that was so readily available in Lycenium.
Indeed, families of many nations encouraged their sons and daughters to spend time absorbing the refinement of this unique city, and study the wealth of knowledge it housed. It was commonly felt that in order to be truly prepared for life that one must have a deeper acquaintance with the richer aspects of it, such as the arts and learning, and nowhere in the world could one be polished more gloriously than in Lycenium.
Marcus had not yet done his apprenticeship in this city; although he knew that time would come. But today he faced a more pressing matter that needed to be addressed.
For Lycenium was merely a stepping stone that carried him ever closer to his destination: the Imperial Palace of Valerium.
There he must face the Empress Aurora and reveal the truth about the Pearl she had ordered him to find and bring back for her.
Chapter III
Festival In the Streets
Zoe brought the boat into the port. As they glided on her course, they saw majestic bridges of white granite whose arched pillars allowed ships to pass beneath their mighty spans. Dag leaped out into the shallows at the pier and pulled the rope attached to the boat. He waded through the water and wound the rope around a post, pulling it tight and fastening it securely with the strong knots he had learned in his forest abode.
They gathered their bundles containing their belongings and entered the wide city gates. Here, they met with no challenge, such as greeted them in Koohyaram, for Lycenium was part of the Valeriun Empire, although it named as its citizens strangers from foreign lands as well. Lycenium was a city that loved variety, and the wanderer from the East was as welcome as the wayfarer from the West.
They were greeted by a group of street musicians making merry on flute, drum, and lyre. Several delighted children flocked around them clapping their hands and nodding their heads to the beat of the drum. Marcus, knowing what was expected, dropped a coin at their feet. The musicians smiled their thanks, and the small band of friends went on their way.
As they made their way down the cobbled road, they encountered a troupe of acrobats, tumbling their way in and out of those who made their way on foot, and impervious to the occasional chariot that pelted through the thoroughfare. It became evident that the tumblers considered such encounters a challenge of their skill, and they thrilled onlookers with the dexterity by which they maneuvered around them. The chariot drivers did not see it in quite the same light, and the air turned blue with their curses at those who obstructed their way. Felix laughed at their colorful frustration, but Dag placed his hands over Cort’s ears to shield him from such coarse language.
Scattered along the street were hawkers selling food of various kinds at wooden stalls. Each vendor had a portable brazier over which he or she was able to grill and stew a variety of tempting dishes. The offerings included lamb wrapped in grape leaves, roasted pork on a stick with onions and apples, a stew of goat meat with potatoes and leeks, and a curious flat bread stuffed with crab, peppers, and tomato.
Cort dashed for the nearest stand and looked imploringly at Dag. The great man smiled indulgently at the small boy and paid the cook for the meal. Cort closed his eyes in bliss as he bit into the roasted pork and let out a sigh of contentment. Dag chuckled and patted Cort’s shoulder. Fanchon’s eyes flashed and her lips narrowed, but she said nothing.
After everyone had eaten their fill of whatever dish caught their fancy, they moved on to explore the city. The streets did not follow a uniform pattern of north and south nor east and west, but rather were laid out in a pattern curiously like a maze. From the city square they fanned out in a concentric design like a semi-circle with streets criss crossing in straight lines connecting the next concentric street.
The purpose for this pattern was to reduce the chariot traffic that produced such a racket and made walking difficult. When the chariots had a free flowing road they monopolized it, driving at breakneck speed and imperiling any that stood in their path. Such recklessness was well nigh impossible when one was forced to take angles at reduced speed, and the pattern changed fairly often.
Such a design also enabled strollers to walk unimpeded, and encouraged musicians to mingle freely with the crowds. For the city fathers of Lycenium desired it to be a place of culture and community, where the people came together in the square, and met freely in the marketplace.
They had just begun to explore some of the merchants’ wares when a sudden commotion caught their attention. The crowds around them began to step to the side, creating an aisle in the middle of the roadway. Curious as to what personage would create such a stir, Marcus and his friends strained their necks around the crowd for a clear view at the approaching dignitary.
Excited whispers accompanied the arrival of the person who inspired the rapt attention of the onlookers.
“Oh, there she is again today! Did you ever behold such loveliness?”
“She smiled at me! Well, perhaps not a smile as we call a smile, but she bowed her head and her lips moved.”
“Like a goddess she is! Look how gracefully she holds her head, how stately her carriage! I told my little Odelia, now you just watch this grand lady, and you’ll see how the nobility conduct themselves!”
At last the lady in question came into view. Four attendants whose excellent physical condition gave them the appearance of athletes fit to compete in the arena bore on their shoulders a fine litter with curtains of elegant crimson brocade, drawn back to reveal the lady of whom the crowd spoke with such reverence. And indeed, like a goddess she appeared; tall, dignified, with an upright carriage and her small head tilted slightly back on her swan-like neck.
Her perfectly carved features in an oval face appeared as if they had been chiseled by the finest sculptor in marble: straight nose dividing a visage flanked with high cheekbones softened by a gently curving jaw flowing into a rounded chin. Her blue-black hair had the ebony shine of the jet stone; the light rippled on the waves of shining tresses caught back with a band of blue gauze. With her attendants holding her aloft, she glided gracefully through the assembly, not gla
ncing to left or right, as if those around her were merely the audience around the stage of her existence.
Marcus felt his chest tighten and he held his breath, his eyes riveted on the girl who was approaching where he stood rooted to the ground. He scarcely heard Fanchon give one of her airy comments on the scene, “If one actually likes tall women and black hair, then I suppose she could be said to be beautiful, but in Gaudereaux...” Her words fell on ears deaf with shock. He was aware of nothing and no one except the vision that suddenly stopped with sharply drawn breath in front of him.
It was Tullia.
Chapter IV
Tullia
“Marcus!”
Tullia’s voice was barely a whisper. Motioning for her attendants to stop she floated from the litter and swayed on her feet, as if scarcely able to keep her balance. The movement had all the grace of a willow bough waving in the draft of a gentle breeze.
“But it can’t be! I was told you were dead!” she exclaimed in a slightly stronger voice.
She appeared dazed as she stared at Marcus. He too, was fixed where he stood, unable to move or to speak.
The sound of a gasp nearby reminded him that they were not alone. His head whipped around to look at Felix, who seemed distressed as his gaze darted back and forth from Marcus to Tullia and back again. Aware of the curious looks of those around them, and mindful that they were making a scene, Marcus decided to take the situation in hand.
“No, I am alive as you can see! But come, let us find some quiet place where we may speak and I will tell you all!”
Tullia’s azure blue eyes widened until they seemed like a summer sky reflected in a mountain lake, as she nodded an understanding of Marcus’ intent. Yes, she seemed to say in reply to his unspoken request. Let us not make a display of ourselves in a public street, where all may witness a private matter. Marcus smiled back at her tenderly and with gratitude for her sensitivity. Truly, she was a lady of rare refinement and dignity!