Authors: L. M. Roth
To the dismay
of Marcus and Tullia, Antonius did not come alone. When they received the news
that their dinner guest had arrived, they walked into the dining room to
discover that young Hadrianus had been accompanied by his parents.
Marcus
swallowed his anger with difficulty and contented himself with a glare at
Decimus, who had the impudence to look amused. He noted that Decimus had not
lost his handsome looks, although now he was slightly heavier and his face a
little florid from being over fond of wine. Decimus bestowed a mocking bow upon
Tullia, whose face froze into harsh rigidity, transforming her exquisitely
chiseled features into a mask of stone.
Decimus then
remembered the presence of his wife whom he introduced with a casual
indifference. Paulina was a shy and mousy looking woman with sandy hair, pale
blue eyes, and a mouth with lips too narrow and a weak chin that quivered when
she spoke. She had none of the beauty or elegance of the maidens Decimus had
pursued in his youth, but then, maidens of that class of society would have
naught to do with him after his treatment of Tullia; probably Paulina was one
of the few options left to him in his search for a wife.
Tullia
remembered her manners and extended a hand of welcome to Paulina, who accepted
it with eager gratitude. She appeared to Marcus to be a creature who desired to
please, and to belong in the class to which she now was elevated upon her
marriage. Yet her lack of polish was soon evident, as she made one social
blunder after the other throughout the evening.
Marcus noticed
that Paulina had difficulty making the small talk so necessary at the dinner
tables of the elite. After her first greeting she quickly lapsed into silence
and when spoken to, answered with brief sentences that revealed her lack of
poise.
“How did your
garden fare after so dry a summer?” Tullia asked her politely.
“Oh, oh, it
fared. I mean, it was fine, I suppose. I do not know really, we have slaves who
take care of all of that. Several in fact; we have six gardeners and I leave
all of it to them. We do not need to concern ourselves with such mundane
matters when there are others to do it for us,” Paulina fumbled in reply with
an ingratiating smile.
She noted the
frozen look on Tullia’s face. Everyone had slaves, except the Maximus family
who had freed all of theirs and paid them wages. But it was considered vulgar
to mention slaves and the services they rendered, a fact of which Paulina
seemed unaware.
She did no
better once the meal was served. Paulina had apparently not been taught that it
was rude to speak with one’s mouth full, and she slurped her soup in a manner
that was shocking to one of Tullia’s social status, if Marcus could judge by
the way her eyes widened and looked away from her guest. Marcus risked a glance
at Decimus and was surprised to see him redden and drop his eyes to his plate
and clamp his mouth tightly while shaking his head slightly.
So, Marcus
thought, Paulina is an embarrassment to him. And for the first time he felt
sorry for his old rival. But after all, it was Decimus himself who had ruined
his chances to take a lady for his wife.
Antonius did
indeed appear to be as gentle as Lucius claimed, with soft brown eyes that held
all of the innocent wonderment of a child continually delighted with life’s
daily adventures of exploration, and an endearing manner of meekness surprising
in the son of Decimus Hadrianus. He greeted Marcus and Tullia with a warmth and
lack of guile that soon convinced Marcus of his innocence in relaying the
secrets of the Alexandrians to his father. In fact, Marcus was about to be
besieged in the young man’s questions regarding the sect, much to the amusement
of Decimus as he noted Marcus’ discomfort.
“Oh, please
sir, do tell me more about the Alexandrians! For Lucius has told me some of
their beliefs and I long to know more. He says that no one knows as much about
Alexandros as you,” Antonius implored, as he hung on every word of Marcus’
throughout the meal.
Decimus
allowed himself a snicker, which was quickly subdued by a glance at Tullia, who
returned it with a look of cool contempt. Decimus scowled and took a hasty slug
from his glass of wine, which Marcus noted, was his third of the meal. Paulina
looked with puzzlement from her husband to her host, then flushed in confusion
and gave full attention to her food.
Marcus turned
back to his young guest.
“It is true
that I have been a believer for many years, Antonius,” he replied. “Yet there
are others who know far more about Alexandros than me.”
“Is it true
that anyone can believe? Do you not have to earn favor with Alexandros? The
gods of Lycenium must be placated with vows and sacrifices: is it not the same
with Alexandros?”
Marcus smiled
at the eagerness of the young man. How could Decimus have had such a son?
Surely Antonius must have taken after his mother!
“Yes, it is
true that anyone can believe, Antonius. And one does not have to earn favor with
Alexandros, because Alexandros paid a price so that we may have favor with His
Father, Dominio, the One true God.”
Marcus was on
the brink of relating the story of Alexandros in its entirety to Antonius when
he caught himself sharply. With Decimus in the room listening to every word
that he said, how could he? Not only would he mock and ridicule, who knew what
tale he would send back to the Emperor! It was true enough that they were safe
for the moment in Lycenium, but Iacomus was still in Valerium as were some of
the Alexandrians who had remained behind. Marcus could not endanger them…
He was spared
an excuse by the intrusive remarks of his mother-in-law. Drusilla had never
understood the fascination of her daughter and son-in-law with a God whom she
could not see, hear, or touch, and with barely suppressed impatience she barged
in and turned the conversation into a different stream. Marcus never thought
that he would be grateful to his mother-in-law.
“But Decimus,
you must tell us how your mother and father fare! For I have not seen them in
so long. Are they well? The last I heard of Quintina she was still very lovely.
Have you any news of them?”
With
reluctance Decimus turned from the discomfiture of Marcus to satisfy the
curiosity of the woman whom he would have had for his mother-in-law had her
daughter been willing to co-operate. That he still admired Tullia was obvious
to Marcus: he had not missed the wistful glances he had surprised on the face
of Decimus throughout the meal. That each look of yearning was followed with a
tightening of the lips and a flash of fire in his green eyes did not bode well;
clearly Decimus was still angry at her refusal of his wooing, and that anger
made Marcus suddenly fear for the safety of his wife. If Decimus dared to lay a
hand on her…
The rest of
the meal was spent in desultory conversation, natural and easy on the part of
the two young men and Drusilla; strained to the point of breaking on the part
of the others. Paulina had caught the undercurrents between her husband and
their hosts, and she appeared in a hurry to finish the meal and leave at the
earliest opportunity.
“My, how the
time has flown by! Antonius, do you not have an early appointment tomorrow with
your tutors and an exam? It would be best for you to get a good night of sleep
so you are refreshed and able to think clearly. Come, eat up your meal and we
should be on our way.”
Decimus shed a
sneering glance on his wife, but his eyes softened when they rested on his son.
Even he, Marcus thought to himself, had some semblance of finer feeling, and
that he doted on his son was evident.
“Yes,
Antonius,” Decimus drawled as though he had nothing but time on his hands, “you
must do as your mother says. For even a boy as bright as you must rest before
undergoing such an ordeal!”
He laughed in
genuine amusement with no hint of mockery and smiled indulgently at Antonius.
On this note of civility and ease it was possible to end the dinner with good
will and see their guests to the door in a hospitable manner.
“Well, Father?”
Lucius asked Marcus with an imploring look in his eyes. “Isn’t Antonius all
that I said he was?”
Marcus nodded
briefly.
“Yes, I’ll
warrant that he is truly an innocent. But you must be careful what you share
about the Alexandrians with him, Lucius. For they are under persecution in
Valerium, and I do not know how long we shall be allowed the freedom to meet
here in Lycenium.”
“Yes, I shall
be careful,” Lucius agreed. “And, Father, umm..I do see now what you tried to
tell me about Decimus. For his manner was completely different tonight from
what I am accustomed to. He seemed to mock you and my mother, and that has
convinced me that you are telling the truth about him. I am sorry I doubted
you.”
And Lucius
hung his head and looked carefully at his feet.
“It is
alright, my son,” Marcus soothed. “The facts were a shock to Decimus’ own
parents, who were reluctant to believe any evil of him.”
Lucius shot a
grateful glance at Marcus.
“Yes, I
imagine they would have been,” he said. “Which is why it is going to be
difficult to persuade Antonius of the truth.”
“No!” Marcus
exclaimed. “You must
never
tell Antonius what his father did! For then
he would despise him and Dominio wants us to honor our father and mother, do
you remember that? You must promise not to tell Antonius. Have I your word,
Lucius?”
Lucius flashed
a look of surprise at Marcus, but nodded in agreement.
“Alright,
Father,” he said. “I give you my word.”
They had
always been close, Dag reflected, even before they became brothers through his
marriage to Judoc. Through the years a bond had been built that was stronger
between them than even to their siblings born of his union with his wife. No
one, he thought, would ever be able to take Brenus’ place in Cort’s heart, nor his
in his brother’s. But now a wall was being erected between them, inch by inch,
day by day.
He blamed
Melisande for their estrangement. What was it about her that made him uneasy,
he wondered? Brenus told him before his marriage that Melisande was a believer,
but if so it wasn’t evident to Dag. During the meeting the village of Leith
held weekly she appeared bored and distracted. She never prayed aloud. During
the time of sharing and instruction her eye wandered around and rarely rested
on the speaker. She sang only half-heartedly the songs they offered to Dominio.
And yet…there
was something more, something that eluded him. The more he grew to know
Melisande, the more familiar she seemed to him. Where had he met someone like
her, for he knew he had not met her before Brenus introduced her to him and
Judoc. Cort had commented to him shortly after the marriage that something
about her voice seemed familiar to him also. But where could they possibly have
met?
Dag had rarely
left Eirinia after landing here twenty years before. He made occasional trips
to Valerium to visit his old friend Marcus Maximus, but he had not done even
that in more than five years. His duties in Leith kept him busy with affairs at
home.
During the
first few years in Eirinia he had had the assistance of Bimo in teaching the
villagers. But Bimo had grown restless and left to go wherever Dominio sent
him. Dag heard from him occasionally, for Bimo wrote and waited for an
opportunity to send his letters. He only stayed a year or two in each place,
and he did not know where his old friend was at present. Dag was looked upon as
the leader of the Alexandrians in Eirinia, and the Eirini came from all over
the country to seek his council and guidance on matters of the faith.
He had come a
long way from the barely literate man who had joined Marcus on his quest so
long ago. He had spent many years perfecting the skill of writing a good letter
and studying volumes of history and learning. His knowledge of the world had
increased along with his vocabulary, and even Marcus had commented on his last
visit that few would ever believe that Dag had not learned how to read and
write until he was in his mid-twenties. And that it was a ten year old boy who
had taught him both…
Cort had
taught him, patiently and lovingly, so proud of this man he called his father.
Dag wondered at times if Cort ever thought of his real family in Trekur Lende,
the family who would have sold him into slavery to the Hoffingi to pay their
debts. Did he ever think of them? Did he miss them? Or were Dag and his adopted
family in Eirinia enough family for Cort?
At that very
moment, Cort’s mind was running in a similar vein of thought. He too wondered
why Melisande seemed familiar, as if he had known her in the past. What was it
about her voice? Was it the inflection, the accent on certain words? What was
it that eluded him about her?
He had been
careful to avoid her as much as possible; for it was more than her voice that
disturbed Cort. At times, he caught her looking at him in a way that made him
uneasy. He would become aware of being studied, and would look up to catch her
eyes on him with a light in her deep green eyes that reminded him of a cat
stalking its prey; intent, unwavering, and with a look that was almost
hungry... She averted her eyes when they encountered his, yet she did this too
often for Cort’s comfort.
He thought of
his brother, Brenus. Was he happy in his marriage? He seemed to be, for the
most part. And yet, there were times when he seemed almost cowed in the presence
of Melisande, and he looked at her quickly as if for approval before speaking
in the presence of the family. He no longer spoke much during the meeting of
the Alexandrians, a fact that did not escape Cort’s notice.
Before the
advent of Melisande Brenus had been one of the most vocal of the young men of
the village, always quick to offer an insight, speak a word of encouragement,
or lift up his voice in praise. But Cort could not recall the last time Brenus
had done any of these things. Not before his marriage it seemed…
Cort’s reverie
was interrupted by the very subject of his introspection. Brenus burst into the
hut with the energy so characteristic of him, which his mother once described
as a wind of fury wreaking havoc on all in its wake. He flashed Cort a quick
grin that lit up his dark face like a star shining through a thunderstorm.
“Hail,
brother!” Brenus exclaimed. “How goes it with you?”
Cort hesitated
before answering. Was this the right time to speak frankly to Brenus regarding
his bride, and the unease she roused in him?
He decided it
was not a good time.
“Hail,
brother,” he replied. “I am well. What brings you here from your own hut? If it
is Father you seek he is still in the fields, as would I be also, were it not
for coming back for water; for the day is long and we are thirsty.”
Cort shot
Brenus a look of reproach. Brenus knew well what it meant: he was not in the
field with them, and he had not even left for a day’s hunt in the woods. But
Melisande had woken with him that morning and implored him to stay with her for
a while, and so he had lingered, and the morning sped away…
“Ah, yes, the
fields, the fields! It is time for the last harvest, is it not? How industrious
you and Father are, Cort!”
Cort bristled and
clamped his mouth shut tightly. Only for a moment did he keep his silence. Why
not, he thought to himself. After all, someone should say something to Brenus
for his own sake.
“Yes, we
are
industrious, Brenus. You should try indulging in such a pastime yourself
sometime. Of course, it would mean tearing yourself away from your wife and
that perhaps would be a hardship too great for you to bear at this hour of the
day!”
Like a
thundercloud erupting in a blue sky did the scowl on the face of Brenus seem.
Cort cared not; his brother had been too slack for too long.
“Perhaps you
are merely jealous, brother. I do not see a wife warming your nights, now do
I?” Brenus jeered.
It had been
many years since Cort lost his temper with Brenus, not since the time they had
roughhoused in their early teen years and accidentally broken a favorite
ornament of Judoc’s, and Brenus had cast the blame for the incident on Cort,
although it was he who had actually tripped and landed on top of it. Cort had flown
at him and hit him, although fighting was expressly forbidden by Dominio and he
had always adhered to it.
But the
mockery on the face of his brother was too much to be borne, considering how
much Cort disliked his bride.
“Jealous?
Jealous! Of what, your bride, this woman who sprang into our midst with no
history, no family, and no faith? Truly you must be bewitched to even consider
taking such a one! I wouldn’t have her if she were the only choice I had. Mark
my words: your Melisande has a past that would make you shudder were it made
known to you. Why else does she tell you nothing of herself? An honest woman
makes haste to prove her good name. Your bride does no such thing!”
The storm
erupted and Brenus flew at Cort, knocking him to the ground. Cort was not to be
cowed, and rolled with Brenus on the floor, flinging all of his obedience to
Dominio to the wind of his brother’s tempest. It was in this fashion that
Melisande walked into the room and found them.
She shrieked
and flung herself into the melee, getting hit in the cheek for her pains. She
moaned and clapped a hand to her face, thereby earning the sympathy of her
husband, who sprang to her assistance.
“Now look what
you’ve done!” he railed at Cort.
“What I’ve
done? How can you be sure I did it? We were both fighting and if she interfered
that is no fault of mine.”
And Cort
stomped out of the room in disgust, banging the door of the hut behind him.
The evening
meal was strained, a fact that did not escape the notice of Dag or Judoc. For
they still shared their meals together, despite the fact that Brenus and
Melisande had a hut of their own, erected upon their marriage. Judoc wanted the
family together for the evening meal, and they observed this ritual daily.
Cort and
Brenus were both sullen and refused to speak to one another. And Melisande’s cheek
had swollen slightly, but she did not enlighten anyone on the cause of her
injury. All three of them sat quietly with downcast eyes, their faces
impassive. Dag decided to let them work it out for themselves and did not query
any of them.
Maelys, however,
seemed possessed of a spirit of mischief and refused to ignore what the rest of
the family chose not to see.
“Cort!” she
exclaimed in innocent tones. “What a mess your eye is! Why, it is turning black
and blue, I swear it is!”
She clucked
her tongue and was greeted with a quickly suppressed giggle from Nolwenn, who
promptly hid her face in her linen. Maelys was not yet finished in adding to
her sister’s dinner entertainment.
“And
Melisande,” she crooned. “Whatever happened to your cheek? It is swollen to
twice its size and is as red as a beet!”
She looked in
mock consternation from one to the other, and shook her head.
“Did you and
Cort perhaps try to enter a door at the same time and it fought back and hit
you both in the face?”
This remark
was the undoing of Nolwenn who ducked her head under the table, from which her
laughter erupted like the bubbling of an underground stream. Dirk also seemed
to catch the contagion of Nolwenn’s mirth and stifled his chuckles with
difficulty, his cheeks distended painfully as he manfully clamped his lips
tightly shut to prevent the ensuing hilarity, from which a wheezing sound
emanated like the whistle of a kettle that has just come to boil.
Young Brand
looked around in all innocence at his siblings, and back to Cort and Melisande.
“Well, I do
not see what is so funny,” he said, always the last member of the family to get
the joke.
After dinner
Cort decided to take a stroll in the woods to calm his spirit and collect his
thoughts. He excused himself from the family and headed for the copse behind
the village, now shedding the last of its autumn leaves, a brown and withered
canopy the only remnant of its previous glory. Even so, the stark beauty of the
barren trees took on a mysterious beauty in the soft light of the silvery moon
that bathed their branches in a shimmering glow.
As usual, the
scent of the trees refreshed him. How he loved the forest! Even as a boy in
Trekur Lende he had been most content when walking in the woods, enjoying the
redolent aroma of the pines and firs, the smell of leaves trampled underfoot
rising up to meet him. Was there any finer perfume in the world?
“Cort.”
He had not
heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He turned around and beheld Melisande
gazing at him, one hand on the trunk of a tree, the other holding her cloak
around her throat to protect it from the chill of the autumn night.
“What do you
want,” he asked curtly, not even attempting to soften the tone of his voice.
She smiled
weakly and stepped toward him tentatively, like a young fawn venturing out of
the safety of the forest and into the open air.
“I know you
are angry,” she whispered. “So is Brenus. Yet I can not retire for the night
until I have spoken to you.”
Her bright gaze
was fixed on his face so avidly that Cort actually felt a momentary qualm of
fear. Why did she look at him so? And why did he feel like a rabbit caught in
the hunter’s noose when she did so?
Melisande
suddenly quickened her pace and came so close to Cort that he could have
touched her without extending his arm to its full length. The prospect did not
make him comfortable.
“Cort,” she
breathed. “Is it true? Do you love me? Brenus said it must be so; do you? For I
love you, Cort. I knew as soon as I met you that I made a terrible mistake in
marrying Brenus.”
The look of
horror in Cort’s face did not deter Melisande. She flung her arms around Cort
and drew his head down to her face.
“Oh, Cort, my
darling,” she murmured and pulled his lips down to hers.
He was so
surprised that he offered no resistance, as he simply couldn’t believe that
such a thing was happening between him and his brother’s wife. Melisande
tightened her grip on his neck and pressed herself close against him. He came
to his senses and pushed her away, wiping his lips in disgust. He turned to
walk away from her, and looked straight into the face of his brother.
Brenus looked
murderous and clenched his fists so tightly at his sides that even in the dark
Cort could see the whites of his knuckles.