by L. M. Roth
“And if I cannot provide you with a home, you will not consent to be my companion in life, is that it?” Marcus demanded in a voice as harsh as the crow who’s cawing seemed to mock him, barely able to speak through the bitter taste in his mouth, the burning pain in his heart.
“Yes, Marcus, that is it,” Tullia whispered, as she hung her head.
“You see, Marcus, when I was a little girl my father told me that one day a man would come for me, a great man, one of wealth and power, who would take me from the home of my parents to live in a splendid house of my own. And he would love me, and shelter me, and take care of me. I would be as a queen in his eyes, he told me, and would live like one as well. I would never know want because he would provide me with all things my heart could long for. And he would shield my eyes from all that is unpleasant, even all that is evil in this world.
“And you, Marcus, in your present position, cannot possibly be that man. You have failed the Empress and worse may befall you; imprisonment, exile, possibly execution. Nor will I settle for less than the promise my father avowed when I was a little girl.”
They stood staring at one another for what seemed an age.
Marcus knew in that moment that he would never be able to abide the scent of roses again, their sweet aroma suddenly nauseating him, smelling decayed and cloying.
Then with mutual and tacit consent they descended from the bridge and strolled across the lawn to wait for the others to join them. They walked stiffly at one another’s side, each one careful not to look at the other. Not a word uttered between them except for the echoes of their exchange ringing in their minds. But after all, there was really nothing left to say.
Chapter VI
A Soldier
Marcus did not wait for the others to return after all. Upon reflection, he decided he could not bear to face the question that would be in the eyes of Felix, who had been loathe to leave him alone with Tullia, and had cast many backward looks fuming with resentment in the direction of Marcus as he stormed off with Dag. He could not bear to expose his broken heart and wounded pride to one who also loved his lady, and who also hoped for a future with her. That Felix’s hope was no more grounded in reality than his own did not matter to Marcus: it was too soon to face anyone after being dealt this disappointment to his dream.
He returned to the inn where they had found lodging. It would have been proper for Tullia and her family to offer hospitality to Marcus and his friends; but the obvious strain that Tullia felt in the company of both Marcus and Felix made such an offer out of the question. Felix had an aunt and uncle who lived in Lycenium, but Tullia mentioned that they were presently in Golida, and therefore, could not offer them a place to stay either.
A small tributary of the great river ran beside the inn, and Marcus found himself wandering aimlessly along its banks. He rambled along the course of its meandering until he found a secluded spot away from prying eyes, where the low-lying branches of a large willow tree draped a green curtain, and hid himself among its fronds.
And there, Marcus cried. He had not intended to do so; he wished to swallow his bitterness as a man of Valerium, in stoic acceptance of whatever life might see fit to hand him. But he could not. Great sobs that shook his body and tore at his throat racked him and he could not contain them.
The spurning of his love by his lady fair after all the suffering he had endured over the last year was too much to bear. He cried for his rejected love and the death knell of his most cherished hope, for his imprisoned parents whom he could not release from their cruel plight, and for his homeless state, with no place to call his own. True, he had put his faith in Dominio, and had entrusted all his cares to Him, but would there never be relief from all of this pain and heartache?
How long he cried he did not know. He wept until he was spent, and no more tears would come. When he finished, his head ached, and he lay prostrate on the ground, too weary even to rise. He turned over and lay on his back, gazing through the trailing branches to the hint of blue sky above. Strange, the sun still shone like a light of hope in the firmament, the day was still as fair as though the storms of sorrow would blow no more. But for him the joy was gone from it. Would he ever know happiness in this life again?
At last he rose to his feet and stared idly down at the small stream. The water was so clear that he could see the pebbles on its bed, and his own reflection on its surface. The flow ran quietly yet swiftly over the rocks, as soothingly as a whisper, and drew him to it as irresistibly as the tide rushes to the shore, although knowing it will only be beaten back out to sea. He watched a school of minnows swim past with the ease of those free from care, then his attention was arrested by a twig that floated by. Caught in the current, it had no control over its course, but must go where the stream took it.
Like Zoe, Marcus pondered. That is what Xenon said of the River Zoe: the River would take you where it wills, if it wills. But you do not take the River, it takes you.
This reflection gave him no joy. If he could not plot his course but could only be carried by the River, of what use was it to make plans for his future? And the answer came to him: he could not make plans, because his life was no longer his own. He must yield to the will of Dominio and seek His command.
Logos, Marcus thought. I must ask Logos and seek guidance. Surely even this rejection of my suit is known to Dominio, and there may be a word of comfort from Logos that will help me to bear my pain. For if I do not have a word of comfort, some hope to cling to, some sign that this torment will cease, then life will be unbearable and not worth the fight to go on.
With this intention in mind, Marcus returned to the inn. There was no sign of his companions to be found, yet he crept quietly, not wishing to be seen by anyone. He returned to the room he shared with Felix, and after silently closing the door behind him, removed Logos from the cupboard where he had placed the Sword for safekeeping. He had not worn it when he left to visit Tullia, for he was not a soldier in uniform, and felt awkward at the portrayal of something he was not. And Logos was to be guarded as his dearest treasure, and not to be exposed to the eyes of the merely curious, nor to be handled in a casual manner.
He carried Logos to a window, the better to see by the now waning light of day. Hardly daring to breath, he carefully unwrapped the scabbard from its linen covering, and withdrew the Sword. It gleamed in his hand, and he clung to the hilt, pausing even in his distress to admire its beauty, then he addressed it.
“Logos,” he said, in a voice that was scarcely more than a whisper, and shook with a weakness that shamed him. “Show me how to bear this pain in my heart. Tell me what I must do to conquer this despair that threatens to engulf me.”
A faint light emanated from the blade, softly at first like the silver shimmer of moonlight on snow; then it grew in intensity. It glittered fierce and bright, and words appeared on it.
Carefully, Marcus read them:
“No soldier enlisted in active service involves himself in the cares of everyday life, but instead seeks to please the One who enlisted him for service.”
A soldier.
All of his life he had wanted to be a soldier like his father, the great General Valerius Maximus…
“Yes!” Marcus exalted. “I am a soldier! Not in the Imperial Army of Valerium as I always dreamed, but I am a soldier! I have enlisted to serve Dominio, and to extend His Kingdom and rule wherever I may go. And no heartbreak from a faithless maiden, no hardship to be endured, nor any forces of Hell will stop me!”
And he threw back his shoulders, straightened his spine, and with one toss of his head vowed to go on.
Chapter VII
Betrayed
He dreaded the inevitable encounter with Felix. Not only did Tullia confess that she did not love Marcus, she did not care for Felix either, and never had. Marcus was keenly aware of how that knowledge would wound his friend.
For had not Felix blurted out upon his return that he felt Tullia was attached to him until she met Marcus?
And had turned to him upon learning of the supposed death of Marcus? Yet according to Tullia, this was simply not true. His friend must therefore admit he was mistaken in her affection and go on with his life. Even as Marcus must do.
Marcus rose from the chair and paced to the window. Was it possible that the sky was still blue, that the sun still shone? Surely the day must have darkened, to match the mood of his heart. It was possible that one day he would forget Tullia, and look back on his love as a mere fancy of his youth, one that had no more substance than the dew on the morning grass, which disappeared under the first heat of the day. But not now, not yet. Now, it was a pain to be endured, one more sorrow on top of all the sorrows that had been his lot over the last year. Would he ever feel carefree again? Would he ever know happiness?
The sound of approaching footsteps roused him from his reverie. He felt every muscle in his body tense: what would he say to Felix when they met face to face? Surely his friend would be as devastated as he upon facing reality.
Marcus decided to leave the room so Felix would have privacy to bear his disappointment. He strode to the door and opened it, to be met in the corridor with the anxious gaze of Kyrene. She searched his eyes, with a peculiar softness in her own. Marcus flinched from her pity, suddenly aware that Kyrene knew, and was ashamed to face her in his heartbreak. She put out a hand to touch his shoulder, but he flinched and stiffened his spine. She withdrew her hand and stepped back.
“Where are the others?” Marcus barked in a voice husky with unshed tears.
“Dag, Fanchon and Cort are below, looking for something to eat,” Kyrene replied, almost tenderly in her concern.
Marcus hesitated.
“Where is Felix?” he ventured.
Kyrene also hesitated.
“He did not return with us. He said he would join us here later,” she said as she lowered her eyes.
The floor seemed to draw the gaze of them both. Old it was, Marcus reflected, the tiles were dimmed in color, and worn from the tread of many feet. He cared not; he would rather look anywhere at the moment than Kyrene’s penetrating, pitying eyes.
“Oh, well, I need some air,” Marcus responded. “I will go to the river for a while.”
“All right,” Kyrene murmured. “Will you join us for dinner? Shall we wait for you?” she asked without raising her eyes from the floor.
“No, do not wait for me. I am not particularly hungry,” Marcus answered.
And he left her standing there as he strode from the hall.
Down the stairs he fled, quick to leave lest he encounter the others by chance. He walked briskly through the lobby looking neither to the right nor the left, not wanting to be engaged in conversation with even the most casual of strangers.
Down to the river he fled, following the little rivulet once again until he came to the willow tree. Here, hidden in the lush curtain he could regain his composure as he waited for his friend.
Time passed; how long he could not say. The shadows of evening grew long on the grassy riverbank, and the sky flamed orange in the west. Marcus judged that the others had more than likely finished the evening meal. Perhaps Felix had returned and had time enough to shed his tears over Tullia’s rejection.
Marcus decided it was safe to return to his room. He stood up and stretched, brushing off the blades of grass that clung to his robe. Suddenly, the branches of the willow were parted with such violence that a longer one whipped Marcus across the face. Wincing in pain, he turned to see the cause of the disturbance.
Felix strode through the parted curtain of green, breathing violently, fire blazing in his eyes, turning them to smoldering coals. Marcus had never seen his friend so angry, rage seemed to pour from every fiber of his being, as he shook like a sapling battered by the force of a blowing gale.
“Felix,” Marcus cried, concerned at the depth of his friend’s feelings.
“Do not speak to me! Do not say a word!” Felix erupted.
“But Felix,” Marcus blurted…
“No! You have nothing to say that I wish to hear. Were it not for you I would have been the happiest of men! I knew Tullia first. I paid court to her, only to have you come along with your poetry and flowery phrases to woo her heart away from me!”
“Felix, that is not true! Surely Tullia must have told you...”
“Oh, yes, Tullia told me her heart was never mine! But I know that it could have been, would have been, but for your interference!”
“Interference? There was no interference.”
Now Marcus restrained his own anger with difficulty as his temper flared at the harsh accusation of his friend.
“Tullia was free to choose and she chose…”
“Neither of us!” Felix interrupted, cutting off the flow of his friend’s words with his palm upraised.
“She said she does not love you or me. Yet I know in my heart that I could have won her were it not for you.”
Now Felix’s brown eyes snapped dangerously as he glared at Marcus with a fury his friend never dreamed him capable of. Marcus shook his head helplessly as he stared into the crazed anger in the eyes of his dearest companion.
Felix ranted on.
“Not only did she love me before you came between us, it was I she turned to again during the months we thought you dead and lost to us. Yes! She did! And we would have grown closer still were it not for your miraculous return and my forced accompaniment on your quest!” he spat out in fury.
“It makes my blood boil to think of it,” Felix continued as he ground his teeth and clenched his fists. “And when I think of all that I did to win her hand, everything I risked for her sake, I…”
Felix suddenly stopped; panting hard as he blinked at Marcus, whose eyes never left his face.
“Risked what, Felix? What are you talking about?” Marcus inquired over the sudden beating of his heart. His own anger left him as a strange fear gripped his heart and seemed to squeeze it, until he thought he would faint.
“Nothing, nothing at all. I, I do not know what I was talking about. Forget it, Marcus, forget all that I said,” Felix said as he blinked his eyes rapidly, like a crazed man returning to sanity.
The queer beating of his heart left Marcus dizzy. Black spots danced before his eyes, and his breath seemed to fail him, leaving him gulping for air. He stared at Felix: and suddenly he knew.
The gate, Marcus thought, the gate in the garden of my father’s villa. I opened it for Felix, but Felix did not come at the appointed time. Marcus realized that he never questioned why Felix had not come before his seizure by the Palace Guards. And since his return to Valerium Felix had never said why he missed their appointment…
“You,” breathed Marcus, in a voice barely above a whisper.
Felix froze, and as he looked at Marcus he paled and caught his breath.
“You,” Marcus continued, not wanting to say it, yet having to know. “You let the Guards in to seize me. It was you, wasn’t it? The one I trusted above all others!”
Suddenly Marcus found his voice and he bellowed at Felix in howls of hurt and a rage of his own.
“You did it! Because of Tullia? For the love of a woman you betrayed your closest friend? Why, I ought to kill you this very moment!”
Marcus flew at Felix and shook him violently, knocking his head against the willow, then threw him to the ground. He pummeled his arms and ribs, attacking with fists as well as words.
“Because of you my father and mother are in prison! Because of you I am without a home! Because of you I suffered slavery at the hands of an ignorant wild man! And even now I must face a deranged Empress and tell her I failed in my quest, and no doubt it will cost the life of my parents as well as my own!”
Marcus at last became aware that Felix offered no resistance, and lay on the ground in tears. It was the tears that arrested Marcus in his attack, as he recalled how Felix was the first to respond to Xenon’s challenge, the first to repent of wrongdoing. He realized that if he and his family had suffered f
or his friend’s treachery, so had Felix.
Marcus sat up abruptly. Felix sat up slowly, one hand held gingerly to his rib that Marcus had bruised in his zeal to punish him. He parted his robe to examine it: already his skin was turning an ugly purple.
Neither said a word for some time. Marcus panted heavily from the exertion of his attack. Felix looked at the ground, one tear running silently down his face.
“I deserved that,” Felix at last ventured.
Marcus feebly protested, ashamed now at giving vent to his emotions, but Felix continued.
“I deserved that, and even worse,” he said.
He cleared his throat.
“Perhaps,” he paused, “I should go back to the beginning.”
Chapter VIII
A Confession Most Unexpected
“I cannot recall a time,” Felix began, “when I did not envy you, when I did not covet all that you possessed.”
Startled, Marcus lifted a hand to speak, but Felix silenced him.
“It is true, yes. You had everything, Marcus, everything I wanted. When we were children it was you who dared me to feats for which I had little courage, you who knew no fear. It was you who led our band of friends in all of our games, and it was you they looked up to. When we grew older, it was you the maidens noticed, because you were tall and handsome, and seemed to embody their dreams of romance. It was your opinion that was sought by our friends because your father was the Commander of the Imperial Army, a greater man than my father in their eyes. Yes, you had everything, while I had to smile and endure settling, always settling, for second best.”
Felix paused and swallowed hard.
“Still,” he smiled feebly, “I admired you along with everyone else. One day, I promised myself, one day someone will notice me, and seek my opinion and respect me as well. Or so I believed. But that day never came.”