Liberation of Lystra (Annals of Lystra)

by Robin Hardy

  Roman spoke from his heart: “Lord God, you delivered me also. You made your word good and saved me from death and hell, though they were bent on destroying me. You delivered me! Even when I doubted, even when I despaired, you were still working out your purpose. Lord God! I am helpless to understand the reasons for your love, but oh, how I benefit from it! How I praise you, my God, for you are so very good.”

  He stopped, swallowing. Deirdre leaned her head on his solid arm as he stood, and he took her with him from the silent hall.

  That evening, when they slept, Deirdre woke in the dead of night. She must have awakened from a dream, because she awoke in the most intense state of joy she had ever experienced. It was as palpable as rushing water. She was surrounded by it, or suspended in it, absorbing it into her being. The reason for it escaped her, and the inexpressible sensation faded as she came to full consciousness, but it left behind the undeniable imprint of reality.

  She lay still in the darkness, fully awake, watching and listening. But all she heard was Roman’s rhythmic breathing beside her. What was it? What did it mean? she groped. With a start, she recalled her childish complaint for joy. She had lacked it, and He had given it—at least, a taste of it.

  But, in all honesty, she had to concede she had received it before this moment. The look on Roman’s face when she had asked his forgiveness, and what he had given her in love beyond that—it seemed that when she had acted on what she knew was right, then the joy had begun to creep in, slowly at first. But then, as she followed up one obedience with another, it had compounded itself, rolling along, gathering into an unstoppable force which at last had to break out in her sleep.

  And Roman—she reached over to touch him in the darkness, picturing the black hair mussed over his brow, and the brown face etched with fine lines of care—Every victory that he had won had followed on an act of obedience to his High Lord. For eight long years he had stayed faithfully with the dreary task of guardianship, and won her for a wife. He had refused to let Galapos fight without him at the outpost, and won Lystra. Now, he ruled as Surchatain who had battered even the gates of hell in the name of the Prince of Peace.

  She rolled over on her back, still thinking. That was why Roman, as her mentor Josef had, put such importance on knowing the Word: so he would know what was obedience and what was not. For in the obedience rested the power. With such power available to him—why, Roman was invincible. The Continent lay open before him.

  Deirdre closed her eyes with the weight of the thought, but did not sleep for hours afterward.

  Chapter 19

  The following day, Roman sent two advisors whom Basil had recommended to replace Kam and Colin in Corona. Then at the open audience that morning, he sat patiently while the townspeople aired the grievances they had been saving up for his return.

  “Surchatain, I just don’t know how long I can keep a good temper while these boys run wild through my shop, day in and day out; I’ve tried locking the door, but as hot as it gets during the day you know I can’t keep my door shut and locked while I’m trying to work, so that won’t do; then I collar them and throw them out, and they just keep coming back, getting in my tools, playing with the leather, and how is a man to get an honest day’s work in with those kinds of distractions? And. . . .”

  Roman blocked out the droning for a moment, sighing inwardly. He glanced at Nihl to his left, who looked as if he was sleeping on his feet. Resentment began building in Roman over the continual petty demands made on him as Surchatain.

  Then he recalled that pit he had been in just a few days ago, with little hope of seeing daylight again. What wouldn’t he have given to be right here, sitting on this throne, even to hear the people make their endless complaints? No, now he knew better than to squander opportunities the Lord gave him for patient service during times of ease.

  “. . . Now they’ve taken to snatching scraps, and I had to wallop one youngster good before he would turn them loose—”

  “I understand they’re interfering with your work, and that’s not good,” Roman finally interrupted. “But it’s obvious they like you, and they’re interested in what you’re doing. It seems you have ready-made apprentices, if you’ll take it upon yourself to teach them. I’m sure their families will gladly pay the apprentice fees. I’ll send a soldier with you to explain to the boys that the only ones who will be allowed in your shop from now on are apprentices.” He waved to a guard.

  The tradesman nodded his balding head thoughtfully. “Yes, yes, I suppose that would work. Well, thank you, Surchatain; you’re a good man to pay mind to the difficulties of your people, though you should, for we pay enough in taxes—”

  Roman nodded in dismissal and eyed the guard, who led him out still talking. “Who is next, Counselor?” he asked, determined not to show his impatience.

  “The emissary from Qarqar, Surchatain.”

  Roman turned in perplexity as the emissary made his way to the front and bowed in a swirl of his full red robe. “You should be in Hornbound by now, reporting to your Surchatain,” Roman observed.

  “My lord. After the conflicting terms given me by you and your administrator, I sent my companions back. But, I stayed on myself to see what would happen here,” the emissary said with surprising frankness. Roman’s face changed slightly. The Qarqarian continued, “There is no doubt now as to the power you hold. We are prepared to offer whatever you require in tribute or taxes.”

  Roman opened his mouth but the emissary forestalled him, raising a bony hand: “There is no need to pretend you do not know about our gold. Your administrator admitted it. I will not deny it. That puts Qarqar in a vulnerable position. So I must do whatever is necessary to protect her. What are your demands?”

  “I wish to abide by our original agreement. I will not require tribute of you,” said Roman. He did not like emissaries dictating a course of action to him. Nihl was watching the Qarqarian through narrowed, distrustful eyes.

  The emissary hesitated as if not fully persuaded, then bowed deeply. “So. Consider us your humble servants and allies, Surchatain.”

  “I will call on you if I need you,” Roman answered. “You are dismissed.”

  The emissary bowed again as he backed out, and Roman stood, stretching. Six interviews this morning were enough. “This audience is concluded for the day,” he said, nodding to Basil and Nihl.

  On his way out of the hall, Roman directed a soldier, “Find Ariel for me, and bring him to the stables. Be sure to tell Deirdre where he’ll be.” He had suddenly decided it was time for Ariel to have a pony.

  He went out to the back courtyard, but the din of construction in the front brought him around to see what progress was being made in repairing the gates.

  Sevter met him with a drawing on parchment in hand. “Surchatain, here is what we have designed for the front entrance—double gates, separated by a hold of twenty feet. The battlement spans the hold between the gates, as you see, so that if the outer gate were somehow breached, the intruders would be caught in a trap for the archers above. We will also run iron sheeting fifteen feet down into the ground just within the outer gates as a defense against tunneling.”

  “Excellent, Sevter,” Roman murmured, looking over the plans. “I think this deserves some additional reward.”

  “You honor me, sir,” Sevter said sincerely. Roman made a mental note as he left the yard to recommend Sevter to Basil for the post of administrator.

  At the stables, he asked the stableman to round up the gentlest ponies. By the time the soldier arrived bouncing Ariel on his shoulders, Roman had selected a young Celtic pony for his son. “Ride a horsey!” Ariel chortled, lunging from the soldier to his father.

  At this point Deirdre appeared, smiling curiously to see the pony being fitted with a small saddle. “What are you doing?”

  “Ariel is going to ride by himself today,” Roman announced. Ariel clapped his hands with the thrill of it as Roman set him in the saddle.

  “Isn’t he rath
er young yet?” she asked anxiously, leaning against the railing to stroke the pony and test his temper.

  “No,” Roman said, smiling at her clouded face. “I’ll walk beside him.” He put the reins in the little hands, instructing, “Now, Ariel, pull gently the way you want him to go. Pull back—easy!—when you want him to stop. See? Let me lead you.” Taking hold of the bridle, he led the pony around the pen while Ariel perched like a warlord.

  Deirdre watched smiling, but something prescient about the scene caused her smile to stiffen. Roman walked the pony around the circumference of the pen, praising Ariel as they went, but the vision flashed before Deirdre’s eyes of the young man riding out in full battle regalia. It was a bittersweet vision, for with the promise of great victories came the certainty of great dangers.

  When they had come full circle, Roman glanced at her, smiling, but his face fell to see her somber expression. “Deirdre, what is it now? Aren’t I taking care enough?”

  “Yes.” She reached over the rails to embrace his neck. “You are a good and loving father, as I always knew you would be.”

  “I had hard practice for it, with you,” he said distractedly, one hand on her and the other on the bridle.

  As Ariel was kicking the pony, demanding, “Go!” Deirdre released Roman so he could lead the pony around once more.

  Later that afternoon, Sebastian found Roman with Basil in the library and requested that he come downstairs to the foyer. Deirdre and Gusta met them there, also at Sebastian’s request. “Surchatain—my lady—I have been searching throughout the forest with a number of men to find the widow, as you ordered. I’ve found several candidates, and I ask you to tell me whether any be she.”

  He gestured toward a line of five ladies in old, worn clothes standing in the foyer. They were all elderly and obviously poor. “Gusta, do you recognize any?” Deirdre whispered.

  “No,” she shook her braids. “No. None of these is the one who helped us.”

  Deirdre lifted her hand to dismiss them but Roman stopped her. Addressing the first widow, he asked, “My lady, how do you live?”

  She eyed him proudly, gathering her tattered cloak about her. “I fend for myself, young man.”

  He nodded respectfully, then asked the others as a group, “Do any of you have children to care for you? Any family whatever?” No one answered him directly, but two shook their heads.

  Roman turned toward Sebastian, thinking, then told him in a low voice, “Register them to receive a stipend from the treasury in the amount Basil approves. Then take them to Sevter to see what work they can do around the palace—anything at all will do.”

  Roman addressed the widows again. “We have need of more workers in the palace, if you are willing. Sebastian here will show you what needs to be done.” Before they left, Roman tossed off a final directive to Sebastian: “When you are done, go out and look some more.”

  After they had gone, Deirdre flung her arms around Roman. “You are so clever!”

  He smiled tightly. “I half wonder if that widow was really what she appeared to be. But in looking for her, I’ve seen a need I can’t turn my back on. We’ll continue to search till we find her, or until we run out of widows.”

  Deirdre’s arms were still twined around his neck, so he leaned down to kiss her lightly. “So, when are you due?” he asked.

  “Midwinter,” she replied, then informed him, “And no matter how often you ask me that, it won’t change much.”

  He looked down on her imperially. “Do you charge me with impatience?”

  “I? Never, my lord.” She made her face that practiced picture of innocence while harboring a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Roman!” she exclaimed in inspiration, “take me to the lake!”

  He leaned away, moaning, “Oh no. Deirdre, I can’t. I have so much work to attend to—”

  “Go too! Go too!” Ariel demanded from nowhere. They turned to see that Gusta had brought him down from the nursery. “I go too!”

  “Please take us! For only a moment,” she pleaded.

  He sighed. “I could never hold my ground against you, and now I’m outnumbered!” Deirdre took the grinning Ariel while Roman led them in resignation to the stables.

  “I want to take Lady Grey. I missed her on our trip,” she said.

  “As you wish. I suppose she can still make it to the lake. She could walk the path blind,” he remarked. Deirdre glowed in triumph, and Roman fetched the horses. As he saddled them himself, waving away the stableman, he glanced sidelong at his grinning family. “You two were cut from the same quarry,” he muttered.

  Deirdre carried Ariel on Lady Grey while Fidelis highstepped with Roman. The Andalusian seemed to think they were headed off on another adventure, for he began to prance sideways in his eagerness to run.

  The willows of the familiar grove were larger and greener, the lilies blooming more profusely than ever before. Roman dismounted, not even bothering to tie Fidelis, and Deirdre let Ariel down into his arms. The child’s legs were working in a run before they ever touched the ground. “Stay near us, Ariel,” Roman ordered, turning to help Deirdre off.

  She slipped into his arms and they sank down into the soft grass under the willows, her satin dress crumpling in their embrace. She murmured, “I have a confession to make.”

  “Tell me all,” he said, lifting his face.

  “Once, when you were my guardian, I thought of kissing you here under the trees, just to see what you would do.”

  He laughed, “Oh really? I seem to remember that you didn’t bother to wait for the privacy of the grove. You kissed me on top of a hill, in view of all Lystra!” he chided.

  She flushed, protesting, “Oh, I was just a child then!”

  “Old enough to get me into trouble.” He prevented her reply by means of a lengthy kiss.

  She opened her eyes suddenly. “Where is Ariel?”

  He lifted up on one elbow to look around. “Nearby, I’m sure. We haven’t been here but a moment. Ariel!” There was no immediate reply.

  Deirdre nudged Roman over and sat up. “Ariel!”

  They stood, scanning the peaceful grove. Then in unison: “Ariel!”

  At the same time they both looked toward the lake, and saw the little red-brown head bobbing in the water. “Roman!” Deirdre screamed.

  He was already lunging for the lake, breathing, “Lord Jesus—please—” He dove into the water and reached his son in one stroke. He lifted out the child, limp and blue-faced.

  Deirdre fell to her knees, gasping in anguish. The cherished dream of her son riding out to battle fell apart before her eyes. Roman turned Ariel upside down, slapping his back again and again. Water ran from the child’s mouth, but he did not respond.

  Roman brought him up to shore and laid him on the grass with a father’s face of agony. On all fours, he brought his head down to the little chest, shaking in silent sobs. Deirdre sat in uncomprehending shock.

  Roman raised himself to his knees abruptly. “Lord God!” he choked. “I do not understand why you have done this—but—everything I have came from you, and is yours. If you must have Ariel now—he is yours. Who am I to question you?” He pounded the ground with his fists. “Who am I to question your love? Oh, Father,” he moaned, falling back to the turf.

  Then they heard the slightest little cough. Roman jerked up, seizing Ariel and slapping his back. Deirdre fell forward with a cry. The boy gasped, and coughed, and then sucked in his breath and came around crying fitfully.

  His color returned, deepening to an angry red. His parents clutched him between them, shaking as hard as he. “Thank you. Oh, thank you,” Roman repeated weakly.

  They numbly carried Ariel to the horses while he continued to cough up water. Roman cradled him in one arm as he helped Deirdre up with the other. He set Ariel firmly in the saddle before her. Deirdre held the child, weeping in relief, while she stroked Roman’s dripping head.

  He leaned weakly against Lady Grey. “How careless . . . how stupid of me
—”

  Deirdre placed trembling fingers against his lips. “I won’t hear that from you. I was as much at fault. God gave him back to us, so—please don’t flog yourself. I can’t bear it.” He took her fingers and kissed them passionately, then mounted, his face drained and stony.

  They took the path to the palace at a subdued walk. The sun was a large orange ball dropping to the horizon on their right, splashing the sky and clouds with exuberant color. Glints of light shot through the nearby trees to stripe Fidelis with bands of gold.

  Roman said quietly, “The Lord has just now shown me something. I had been so full of plans for Ariel—to train him and educate him into the most intelligent warrior on the Continent. I had not stopped to consider that God’s plans for him may differ from mine. I may make my plans, and I may train Ariel as best I can, but I must not forget who is High Lord. I must let God be God.”

  He paused, dropping his head. “And yet—oh God! I am so grateful you showed me this without taking him from me now!” Roman rubbed his eyes as if weary of the tears, and Deirdre squeezed their son breathless.

  Chapter 20

  Three days later, Kam and Colin returned from Corona. They arrived in Westford at the time of the evening meal, so Roman waved them into the dining hall to eat as they gave their report. “We stopped at the outpost a few hours, Surchatain,” Kam said as he sat. “Heard of the trouble you found waiting for you. Whew! What a homecoming!”

  “That was quickly resolved,” Roman said calmly. “What is the situation in Corona?”

  “Things were humming, as long as we were there,” Kam answered as he helped himself from a pot of venison stew. “That fellow Titan has taken the reins and made things run. Send the bread this way, Colin.”

  “By the by, I had thought there were no Polonti in Corona,” remarked Colin.