Authors: L. M. Roth
Marcus stared
hard at Cort, unable to fully comprehend what had just been revealed to him.
Who would have ever thought that flighty little Fanchon would have succumbed to
a regret so deep that she took her own life? And why would her daughter want to
take revenge on Dag for something that was not his fault?
“Are you
certain about all of this, Cort?” he asked, his voice reflecting the
uncertainty of his eyes. “I simply find it incredible that someone should take
revenge on a man for something that he was not to blame for. And how do you and
Brenus factor into Melisande’s plan?”
Cort sighed;
he had known that his story would be difficult for some to believe. But not
Marcus!
“I am not
certain what Melisande is plotting, but I do know she thought Brenus was the
boy adopted by Dag, and on their wedding night she was distraught when she
discovered it. If I knew what her plan is, I would know how to stop her.”
“Does Dag know
about this? You did not say that you told him,” Marcus questioned, his eyes
never leaving Cort’s face.
“No; I felt
that to tell him would only bring back memories of Fanchon that are best
forgotten. And he knows that Brenus and I quarreled over her, and that I left
home for a while due to that quarrel. He knows nothing more than that.”
Marcus
pondered the facts before offering any counsel. He also would hate to have Dag
reminded of the pain Fanchon had inflicted on him. And to tell him that she
regretted her decision and never forgot him? Would that bring healing to those
memories, or would it cause him to regret his marriage to Judoc, if he had
known that Fanchon loved him to the end of her life?
Something in
the recital of Melisande as told by Cort struck him as false: what was it that
simply didn’t ring true? There was something…
“Of course,”
Cort was speaking, “Melisande may return to Gaudereaux, now that Brenus is
dead. After all, what would be left for her, now that she has lost her husband?
No one else wishes her to remain: of that you may be certain!”
“Is that
true?” Marcus inquired, one eyebrow raised in skepticism. “It seems to me that
your younger sister is very fond of Melisande; would that induce her to make
her home here? Does she have any family to return to in Gaudereaux? Does her
father still live? And Pascal and Gaelle? What of them?”
Cort’s head
jerked up as if startled by Marcus’ words. He let out a low whistle, then
quickly stifled it.
“You are
right, Marcus! I never questioned her about her family in Gaudereaux. I wonder
if Gaelle would confirm Melisande’s story were one of us to pay her a visit.”
“Yes, I
wonder,” Marcus mused.
And then he
remembered; Emperor Urbanus’ words from long ago…when he had encountered Marcus
on the beaches of Albinium.
“Ah,” he let
out a long drawn sigh. “I have it. I recall something Emperor Urbanus told me
once, which I never told anyone else. He said that Fanchon wed the young man
who had been selected for her before she met Dag, but that she was not happy,
and given to shirking company and feeling blue at times. He said she was not at
all like the Fanchon who enjoyed dancing and merriment. So, that much of
Melisande’s story is true.
“But the rest
of it: why would she wish to wed you, Cort? I do not see the line of reasoning
that you do. Was she to make you as miserable as her mother was, so miserable
that she at last took her life? What was her motivation?”
Marcus stared
at Cort with his brow wrinkled in genuine puzzlement. He simply failed to see
what possible motive Melisande would have in marrying Cort. He saw the
dejection in Cort: his shoulders sagging, his sighs, and his sense of
inadequacy in explaining something he saw so clearly, yet could not express
articulately even to Marcus.
He decided to
try another tack in an effort to find the truth.
“Tell me,” he said
softly, as he placed a comforting hand on Cort’s shoulder. “What was the nature
of Melisande’s relationship with Brenus? Did she make him happy? Do you think
her grief is genuine?”
Cort bristled
at Marcus’ questions, less because he was offended as because he was angry on
his brother’s behalf.
“He deceived
himself into thinking he was happy,” Cort huffed. “But his joy lasted only as
long as Melisande had her way. She was all softness and warmth, until he
contradicted her or told her ‘no’ to a request. That was all it took to show
her true nature!”
And Cort
clenched his fists with an anger he could barely contain. Marcus felt
compassion stir him, remembering how close Cort and Brenus had been, how
thrilled when Dag and Judoc wed and they became brothers. He recalled two small
boys suddenly embracing one another at their parents’ wedding in the sudden
realization of the new bond between them, and tears smarted his eyes. Dear
fiery little Brenus, who was now no more!
“Well, Cort,”
Marcus said in a voice grown suddenly husky, “let us be thankful that you
escaped her clutches. For she would have made you as miserable had you become
her victim.”
“Yes, but I
would not have been ensnared by her lures as Brenus was. At no time in my
acquaintance with Melisande have I felt affection for her. I do not like her,
do not trust her, and I fail to see what attraction she held for my brother,”
he said so vehemently that his body shook as though it were a young sapling
beset by a strong gale under which it could not stand.
Marcus turned
to look him fully in the face and held him with his eyes. And Marcus knew what
it was in Cort’s account that did not ring true…
“Is that so,
Cort? For you said yourself that Brenus found you kissing her. You said you
were so stunned that you did not pull away when she kissed you. But it has been
my experience that when a man is truly repulsed by a woman, he rejects her
advances; and most vehemently too. Yet you did not do that, Cort. And that is
why Brenus did not believe you.”
They spoke for
a long time. Tullia accepted Ursula’s apology, and shared with her the love of
Alexandros for mankind. Although resistant at first with the skepticism of her
culture, Ursula said she would need time to digest the message Tullia gave her.
For she was firmly rooted in common sense, she said, and did not worship any
gods, and had never been inclined to do so.
Tullia
accepted that; she prayed that in time Ursula would see the truth of the good
news and let it set her free. For it was clear to her that Ursula had been
trapped in a prison of her own making. The bars of her prison had been her
bitterness at losing Decimus. Now that she knew the depths of his wickedness,
she could count it a lucky escape, even as Tullia counted her own of so many
years ago.
“Ursula,”
Tullia ventured in an attempt to bring their conversation back to the matter at
hand. “Where did Decimus go with Logos? Where did you meet him to give it to
him? If I knew that, I could make haste at once to follow him and bring it
back.”
Ursula’s eyes
grew wide and she paled for no reason that Tullia could account for. She stared
at Tullia and opened her lips to say something, only to close them abruptly.
“I do not
know,” she admitted. “I told you the truth when I said I did not take the Sword
and had never seen it. My part in helping Decimus was to call at your house and
be the last guest you admitted before the theft was discovered.”
She paused for
a moment, and Tullia saw that her lips trembled and tears sprang to her eyes.
Her own heart began beating wildly with a premonition that she would not like
what Ursula was about to say…
Ursula cleared
her throat and looked at Tullia with eyes that pleaded for understanding and
mercy.
“My only part
in helping Decimus was to be a decoy that you would chase while he had time to
get away and take the Sword to the destination of his choosing. I do not know
where that is, or what his intention is. But the theft occurred even before I
came to the house.”
Tullia left
Ursula, numb with that last revelation. Where would Decimus have taken Logos?
Paulina had informed her and Lucius that Decimus had received an urgent message
from his uncle in Lucerna and had left at once to see him. Was that where he
had taken Logos?
Tullia
considered it: what purpose would Logos serve him in Lucerna? It was a land of
snow-capped mountains and lush valleys, renowned for its beauty. But it was a
mere backwater of the Empire, its easternmost boundary, and the inhabitants
were strange to the citizens of Valerium. They were uncultured, barely able to
read and write, and mystical in their beliefs. They adhered to no deity that
the Valerians had ever heard of, clinging instead to proverbs and wise sayings
that made little sense to those not of their land. Tullia had never been to
that land, but those who had said it was a land like no other.
In Valerium
the inhabitants used reason and logic, even denying the existence of most
deities, and winking an eye to those who continued to practice what some
regarded as mere superstitions handed down from one generation to the next. But
in Lucerna it was said that reason and logic were strangers whose acquaintance
the people had never made. And they had an uncanny way of communicating with
one another that mystified wayfarers to their region.
It was rumored
that someone in one village could announce something that morning, and it would
be known in the next village before the day had ended, without any messengers
or runners ever having been sent to spread the news. It was a country that
preferred that travelers keep out of their borders, and leave them unmolested.
There had been stories that some had innocently wandered into that land, never
to return.
And it was to
this land that Decimus reportedly had taken Logos, on an errand known only to
him. And it was left to Tullia to follow him, her former abductor who had
terrorized her in the days of her youth, and demand the return of her husband’s
legacy.
She returned
to the inn and sought out Lucius at once.
“We’ve no time
to waste,” she urged. “I have seen Ursula and we must leave at once for
Lucerna.”
“Lucerna! Why
to Lucerna?” Lucius exclaimed, standing with one hand on a hip as he stared
uncomprehendingly at his mother.
“I will
explain as we travel,” Tullia said. “But we must leave at once. I must send
word to your grandmother to tell her that we shall be gone longer than I
expected. And that she is not to say a word to your father: you shall do that
when we return.”
She cast a
look so stern upon her son that he inwardly quaked. Lucius dreaded to tell his
father of the loss of the Sword. He did not know which was worse, the unspoken
accusation in his mother’s eyes, or the devastation that he knew he would see
in the face of his father.
“Let us find
Cyriacus and inform him that we must set out on another journey,” she stated.
“We have wasted enough time already, and there is no time to lose.”
As the
carriage rattled its way back along the route they had just taken, Tullia
wondered what would await her in Lucerna. Why of all places would Decimus take
Logos there? There was no logic in such a choice of destination. Could it be
simply that no one was truly welcome in that land, and those who entered it
rarely left?
Was his plan
to take the Sword to a destination from which it could never be recovered,
ensuring its loss forever?
The road
climbed higher and higher into the mountains. As the carriage rattled along
Tullia reflected on the land they were about to enter. She recalled the stories
that Marcus had shared with her, as told by his father Valerius when he
campaigned there in the days he led the Imperial Army.
Lucerna was a
land located in the easternmost edge of the Empire, and their culture was like
none other within the confines of its vast domain. Although the people had
learned the Common Tongue, they clung to their own customs and beliefs and
refused to be inculcated into the mold of the Empire.
About the
inhabitants there revolved an air of mystery. They were not a friendly people,
although they were unfailingly polite. They did not like strangers, but showed
them every courtesy common to a civilized nation. This attitude, Valerius
explained, stemmed less from hostility than a sense of privacy and the desire
to maintain it.
The terrain
was mountainous throughout, with the occasional broad plain in a river valley.
Roads were roughly hewn, little more than a dirt path in most places, and made
travel difficult. Those sojourners accustomed to roads paved with cobblestones
or finely hewn boulders did not relish miles of trekking so primitively,
especially when doing so left one dusty on dry days or muddy on rainy ones.
This
inaccessibility was just fine with the natives, as it prevented many curious
wayfarers from entering their land. What was a little discomfort, if it
resulted in preserving one’s privacy? Was that too heavy a price to pay in
return for the freedom of living as they had always lived? Many thought not,
and kept their dirt paths intact, all the better to keep their country to
themselves.
Lucerna was
filled with sages who claimed to have the wisdom of the ages at their
fingertips. Most of what they said was an incomprehensible riddle as far as
Valerius was concerned, and of little value that he could see. He did not know
whether anyone actually believed what he perceived to be gibberish, or if they
deliberately cloaked their sayings in enigmas that only the initiated could
fathom.
There was one
characteristic of Lucerna, however, that Valerius found most agreeable. The
beauty of their women was legendary, and one of the reasons that citizens of
the Empire desired to explore the land. Their women were usually small of
stature and dark of eye, with long, silky hair that they permitted to fall
freely unbound to their waists. They wore it as a cloak of modesty to shield
them from prying eyes. Indeed, their reticence to be ogled by male eyes was
part of their attraction, as they were clearly uncomfortable with staring eyes
that gazed on them with any but polite admiration.
The men of the
country were close-mouthed and given to watching travelers from the corners of
their dark eyes that were almost as heavily lashed as the women’s. They also
were uniformly pleasing in appearance and did not lack for acceptances to their
proposals of marriage. Indeed, the entire population seemed possessed of an
almost unnatural beauty, rare in an entire race.
It was even
rumored that Lucerna possessed some secret that prolonged youth and beauty, far
beyond the normal span of years. Some scoffed at such a statement, but those
who had visited Lucerna swore to the allure of its people well into old age,
and warned those who laughed to be careful, as it was said that they did not
like mockery, and would take issue with anyone who treated them in such a
manner.
All of this
did Tullia remember as the carriage climbed the crest of the mountain road, and
they beheld below them a valley of incredible beauty. The mountains formed a
bowl that encircled the land and sheltered it from the elements. Tullia could
not see a crack in that vista except for the road on which they traveled,
itself a mere track through the mountain passes.
Grass so green
that it glowed carpeted the valley floor, and everywhere flowers of brilliant
color tumbled over it like a rainbow come to earth. From three of the
mountainsides flowed waterfalls of an amazing transparency that cascaded with a
thunderous sound that could be heard even from their carriage. The air was full
of birds that chirped and tweeted as sweetly as a bard singing a tale.
Tullia was quite
suddenly overtaken by a sense of enchantment, and a desire to enter the land
below her and explore its secrets for herself. Gone was the sense of
apprehension at the tales she had heard of Lucerna, replaced with an avid wish
to discover if the legends about it were true. For the moment she completely
forgot about Logos; so intrigued was she by the sight of the vista before her…
They were
abruptly torn from their reverie by the appearance of men who surrounded the
carriage and prevented it from passing through. They wore no armor, nor carried
arms, but challenge was in their stance as they asked Cyriacus his business in
their land. The coachman remained calm, but not satisfied with his answer the
men opened the door of the carriage and pulled Tullia out.
She did not
cry out in alarm, although her heart began pounding and she felt fear sweep
through her. She stammered out that she was a citizen of Valerium who resided
in Lycenium and her carriage was merely passing through Lucerna on its way to
her destination.
“What
destination is that?” one of the men questioned as he drew too closely for her
comfort, peering into her eyes for any betraying sign of falsehood.
Tullia decided
to play the part of an indignant and arrogant aristocrat, hoping the attitude
would fool the men and let her pass.
“That is my
business, sir, and none of yours,” she huffed as she patted her hair with an
affected gesture of superiority.
“I am on a
personal mission and my road merely passes through your backwater of a land. I
will not take any of the precious dirt from your primitive road with me, I
assure you, but will leave it intact, exactly as I found it.”
She said this
with such an expression of haughty scorn that the man bristled and took
offense. His next words proved her instinct to be correct.
“Lucerna is a
fine land,” he stated. “Come and see for yourself, lady. You will not find a
lovelier one, or a pleasanter people.”
And the guard
bowed and put her back in her carriage and waved for them to proceed to the
valley below.
The carriage
slowly descended on the path to the valley floor. Lucius appeared as
overwhelmed as Tullia felt by the beauty that met their gazes. He seemed
dazzled by the grandeur of the vista around them as they entered a small
village filled with structures of fragile construction, made of some light gray
wood and trimmed with boxes of pale yellow flowers at every window, and capped
by curiously domed roofs consisting of tiles of slate dyed a deep red. The air
was abundant with the scent of the flowers, which was of a kind that neither of
them had ever seen before. They were delicate blooms on tall stems of dark
green and their aroma was sweet yet heavy. Tullia decided after one whiff that
their smell would quickly weary her, so overpowering was it.
As they traveled
through the village, it became clear that it was larger than they first
thought. It was not a mere cluster of houses, but contained streets and
thoroughfares, although made of the same dirt as the road that passed through
it. The citizens eyed them warily before dropping their eyes, whether in
modesty or slyness Tullia could not determine.
She bade
Cyriacus stop, and she opened the door of the carriage and climbed out before
he could descend from his box to assist her. A few of the women who were strolling
through the streets on errands paused to look at her curiously before glancing
away. Tullia was joined by Lucius and she signaled to him to follow her.
She ambled
through the streets with no apparent purpose in mind, pausing before the stalls
of merchants who offered their wares of vegetables and a strange fruit of a
purple color with a rough texture the size of a lemon. She gestured to the
merchant, who appeared reluctant to give it to her. His reticence surprised her
and she spoke to him in the Common Tongue.
“I would like
to purchase that fruit, please,” she smiled pleasantly at the man, who now
appeared almost apprehensive.
“You would not
like it, lady,” he stammered. “Perhaps you would like to purchase beans at the
next stall instead.”
Such effrontery
from a total stranger made her indignant and Tullia was now bent on obtaining
the fruit simply because the peddler was determined to keep it.
“I wish to
purchase your fruit,” she said in a voice so satiny smooth that it should have
warned the merchant.
“Something
else instead,” he insisted, shaking his head at what seemed to be her
incredible stupidity.
Tullia closed
her eyes and clamped her mouth tightly shut and sighed heavily. Then she leaned
over the merchant and put her face close to his.
“I said,” she
drawled slowly as her eyes never left his face, “that I wish to purchase your
fruit.”
He stared into
her cool blue eyes.
“Now,” she
said, never blinking as they locked eyes.
The merchant
looked into her obstinate face and handed her the purple fruit, grumbling
something inaudible under his breath as he did so.