Authors: L. M. Roth
They decided
to have the families dine at the House of Hadrianus the next evening. Decimus
would not tell Paulina at this stage: he wished, he said, to see how the young
couple appeared together. And although he did not put it into words, Marcus
knew also that he wanted to gauge Tullia’s state of mind before they made any
decision regarding the marriage itself.
Marcus
informed Tullia that Decimus had been to see him about the marriage. He
revealed to her Decimus’ statement regarding the damage to Felicia’s reputation
were the marriage to be dissolved, and saw the alarm that sprang into her eyes.
It was true
that in the case of a divorce, the blame usually fell on the woman. There was
an unspoken conspiracy among other women that any woman who could not make the
best of her lot in a marriage must have something wrong with her, even if her
husband proved to be a serial adulterer. In that case, they said, there must
have been something lacking in her that caused him to cast his eyes in the
direction of another to begin with.
That she would
not wish her daughter’s reputation to suffer he knew very well indeed. And he
realized that simply by marrying in secret as she had, Felicia had won her
battle and had her parents right where she wanted them. For it was not
conceivable that Tullia Maximus would ever wish to subject her daughter to
gossip and the ignominy of never having the opportunity to remarry. Divorced
women rarely remarried, Marcus knew, bearing the stigma of the divorce with men
as well as women.
And he
realized that his daughter’s fate was sealed indeed.
Paulina beamed
on everyone present with the glow of an innocent. She was thrilled to meet Felicia
at last, and was delighted to be reunited with Tullia and Lucius.
“How marvelous
that we are all together once more!” she thrilled.
Decimus for
answer, looked at her in silence, and then rolled his eyes and looked at his
plate. Neither Marcus nor Tullia deigned to reply, or to enlighten her on her
ignorance of the true state of matters. Felicia, however, answered Paulina’s
statement with an innocence that matched that of her hostess.
“Yes, how
delightful that we are all together! It is wonderful to meet you. Antonius has
told me so much about you; and although Lucius knows you well, it is my first
time. And what a pleasure it is!”
She smiled
with the radiant purity of a bride who wishes nothing more than to please the
mother of her husband, and to the astonishment of Marcus, Decimus saw it as
well. A strange expression came over the face of his old rival: a look of
wonder sprang into his eyes, and a reluctant smile crossed his lips with the
unexpectedness of a sunbeam invading the darkness of a nocturnal creature which
has been surprised by the appearance of its light. For a moment Decimus stared
at Felicia and then he glanced from her glowing face to his son’s tender
contemplation of her, and his still handsome face suddenly manifested both
yearning and regret.
Marcus found
his attention riveted on Decimus, but felt that he was invading his privacy,
always mindful that the men of Valerium kept their true feelings cloaked. He
dragged his eyes away from his host, and met the eyes of Tullia. She had not
noticed the exchange of their host with his son and their daughter, and Marcus
became aware that she was enduring great torment at being once more in the
House of Hadrianus.
Paulina did
not notice the undercurrents and carried on the conversation with the aid of
Felicia.
“Have you
heard?” Paulina exclaimed. “Emperor Urbanus has passed on, just died suddenly
in his sleep! I did not know that he had any ill health, but it happened. And
now there is a new Emperor, Emperor Iacomus. And Decimus is to be his Minister
of State! We shall soon leave for Valerium so that he will take on his duties.
I shall miss you all, but I must admit that the thought of living in Potentus
is exhilarating!”
Only silence
met this announcement, and Paulina wondered why her guests stared at her but
said nothing.
Perhaps it was
tactless to seem so happy, she thought to herself, mindful that there were
still nuances of manner that escaped her and that she would need to learn in
her new position as the wife of the Minister of State. How she wished that
Tullia and Marcus would return to Potentus with them: for she trusted Tullia
and her guidance in all social matters.
Without
considering the consequences she voiced her thoughts aloud.
“How I wish
you were coming to Potentus also, Tullia! For I will need you so. I have never
been to Valerium, and I would be greatly comforted if you were with me.”
For Marcus her
words had the effect of throwing a blazing log on a dying fire. He could not
restrain the words that escaped his lips.
“That we can
not do, Paulina,” he suddenly snapped. “For Tullia and I were driven out of
Valerium by Emperor Urbanus along with our fellow Alexandrians. We can not
return unless Emperor Iacomus overturns that edict, and I do not expect him to
do that, as it was at his instigation that Emperor Urbanus enacted it in the
first place!”
And Marcus
savagely stabbed at the meat on his plate to vent his repressed fury. Tullia
saw the redness of her husband’s face and turned to their hostess with a
conciliatory manner.
“Paulina, you
must understand that the subject of the Emperor is a painful one to Marcus. I
apologize, but until the ban is lifted against Alexandrians we can not possibly
return to Valerium.”
Paulina
blushed at her tactless remark. She glanced nervously at her husband, whose
attention was on their son.
It was
Antonius who put it into words.
“And, Mother,”
he said gently, “I too am an Alexandrian; it will be impossible for me to
travel to Potentus with you and Father. I must remain behind in Lycenium when
you leave.”
Decimus
started suddenly, and Marcus realized that this complication had escaped his
assessment of the situation. It was true that Antonius could not go to Valerium
and must remain behind when his parents left.
Felicia, who
knew nothing of the history with Decimus and his friendship with the new
Emperor, burst in with her own observations.
“But how awful
that you will be parted!” she exclaimed. “And I long to see my old friends in
Valerium. It is too long since last I saw them. Why must the Emperor banish Alexandrians?
We never did any harm to anyone; not ever!”
Paulina was
clearly at a loss on how to answer such a question. Her attempts to do so only
made matters worse; a talent that she excelled at in Marcus’ opinion.
“Oh, but I am
sure that Emperor Iacomus will be a good ruler! Why, he is an old friend of my
husband’s: they were boys together here in Lycenium. And when Decimus left
Lycenium for a while, they met again in my home province of Seneca. Did I ever
tell you of Seneca? It is a lovely place, renowned for its orange and lemon
trees that grow even in the winter due to the mild climate. And that is where
Decimus met me.
“But perhaps I
never told you the full story. It was Iacomus who introduced us, for you see,
he is the son of my mother’s cousin, and therefore is a relation of mine.”
Time hung
heavily on Dag’s hands. The great man, who still resembled a bear just roused
from its winter nap, was accustomed to activity from dawn to dusk. Confinement
to the four walls of his prison did not agree with him. He spent much time in
prayer, but the remainder was spent pacing silently as he fretted over the fate
of those dearest in the world to him.
What was
happening in Eirinia? Was Judoc finding peace at last over the death of her
beloved son? Were Dirk and Brand able to do the work on the farm? Did Maelys
mind her tongue when speaking to Melisande, or did she fuel the flames of their
friction with careless words of taunting that bared her own hostility toward
her sister-in-law?
And what of
events in Valerium itself? What fate awaited the Empire with the advent of
Iacomus Cornelius to the throne? This was the very man who had brought
persecution on the Alexandrians within the environs of Valerium, and which had
resulted in the exile of his old friend Marcus Maximus.
With such a
man come to power, how could the state of affairs not grow any worse than they
already were?
He sat on the
crude wooden bench with his elbows on his knees, his head cradled between his
hands. A footstep on the stone staircase resounded in the stillness of the
silence, and he knew that someone was coming to his dungeon chamber. It was
dark in the chamber, too dark to see now that the little of bit of daylight
that came through the high slit in the wall was quenched with the setting of
the sun.
He saw the
glare of a burning torch, and the face of a guard. Dag had been imprisoned for
two weeks now, yet he had never seen this particular guard. There were two who
came regularly, one as surly and hostile as the other, not given to
conversation or imparting information when Dag asked for news of the world.
They merely slammed down the tray of scanty food and the mug of water they
brought and stomped out in complete silence.
He glanced at
the one who stood before him now. This guard was older than the others; for it
was traditional that only younger men who were in excellent physical condition
had any interaction with prisoners, lest they try to escape. The guards were
trained as relentlessly as soldiers so they could subdue any prisoners who
attempted to overcome them. Indeed, they frequently were soldiers who had done
their duty on the battlefield but were slightly past their prime for active
serve, and ideally suited to guard dangerous prisoners.
Yet this one
was older than Dag, who would soon turn fifty. The man was slight of stature
although somewhat plump, and his thinning hair bristled up around his head with
the air of a rooster strutting his supremacy in the barnyard. Dag was now
curious how this little man came to take the guard’s place and ventured to
engage him in conversation.
To his
surprise the guard looked at him with an air of expectancy before Dag uttered
his first question.
“Tell me, what
news of the Empire?” Dag asked.
He waited for
the rebuff, but none came. Instead, the guard glanced around as if searching
for hidden intruders and inched closer to Dag.
“Only bad
news, bad news indeed,” he whispered.
He drew back
and handed Dag his tray with his plate of stew and bread and a mug of water. He
drew back, and then picked up the tray and gestured to a slip of paper
underneath it. He put a finger to his lips and motioned for Dag to pick it up
and read it. Dag did so at once.
“I am
Odelius,” the note read. “I recognized you when you were brought in as a friend
of Marcus Maximus. I have a history with him, and his lady once did a kindness
for a friend of mine. One of your guards is sick, and I volunteered to take his
place until he recovers. Prepare a message for me to take tomorrow and I will
deliver it to whomever you wish.
“One
precaution: do not speak to me when I come, for I do not know who may be
listening.”
Tears sprang
to Dag’s eyes, tears that were quickly wiped away. The kindness of this
stranger overwhelmed him. He smiled gratefully at Odelius, who slipped a piece
of blank paper with a quill and a small pot of ink out of the hanging sleeve of
his robe, and placed them on the tray. Then he nodded and departed, leaving Dag
in the darkness.
The next
morning Dag drafted a note as the first light of dawn streamed through the high
slit in the wall. He addressed it to the only person in Valerium he knew who
could get another message sent: Justus Lucius. In the note he informed him of
his imprisonment and requested that he send word somehow to Marcus Maximus. He
did not ask that his family be told, for he knew how alarming such tidings
would be to Judoc who already had so much to bear. Nor did he see how his son
Dirk would be able to aid him at such a time, being young and rash, without
knowledge of the world and how it worked.
Dag wished that
he could get word somehow to Cort. Cort would be resourceful, he knew, even if
he had to break into the dungeon somehow to get Dag out. The thought set Dag to
examining the room in which he found himself. It was solidly surrounded by
walls of stone, through which no crack was visible. He glanced up at the slit
set high in the wall; the bars of iron were too strong to be bent, even if he
could somehow reach them.
For a moment,
Dag felt the depths of despair threaten to overwhelm him. He then upbraided
himself. How many times had he escaped a brush with death through the goodness
of Dominio? Surely He would not fail Dag now! And was not Odelius an answer to
his prayers? Who knew whether he would be the instrument of Dag’s release?
And so Dag
settled himself on his bench and waited patiently for Odelius to bring his
morning tray and take his message to Justus Lucius.
At that
moment, all of Potentus was assembled in the city square to hear the news
pronounced by the Imperial Guards. They paraded through the streets of the city
with a great fanfare, trumpets being blown before them as they preceded the new
Emperor in his magnificent litter with silken draperies drawn back so that the
crowds may gaze upon him.
Not all of the
populace was pleased with the recent turn of events, some openly wondering what
fate had befallen their beloved Emperor Urbanus.
“He was always
robust, the picture of health,” one matron whispered to another. “How could he
suddenly die in his sleep? Was it natural, or do you think he was helped out of
this world?”
“Hush!” the
other matron cautioned her. “We do not know, and any such accusations will only
land you in the imperial dungeons. Do you wish such a fate? Then hush I say, or
you will be there before nightfall.”
Just then a
fanfare was sounded, and the attention of the crowds was directed to the
Emperor Iacomus, who had now ascended to a great chair carved of gold which had
been placed for him in the center of the square. He raised a hand for silence,
then motioned to the Imperial Guards. One of them whipped out a scroll of
parchment which he proceeded to read with great solemnity.
“All hail our
great and royal Emperor, Iacomus! May he rule over us with length of years and
joy of days. May he guide us as the stars guide the traveler on a winter’s
night. All hail our great and royal Emperor, Iacomus!”
The crowds
obediently burst into a storm of cries and gave the Emperor the Valerian
salute. The second Imperial Guard then motioned for silence and produced
another scroll from which he read the following pronouncement:
“It being our
sacred duty to lead the people of Valerium, may it be known to all that the
first duty of the people is to bow in reverence before their Emperor, who was
sent on a divine mission to rule over and guide them. Hence from this day
forward it will be considered an act of treason to engage in any sect, cult, or
creed that places itself above the station of our divine Emperor, and pledges
allegiance to any other than him. Anyone found doing so shall be exiled,
imprisoned, or put to death at the pleasure of the Emperor Iacomus, ruler of
the Valeriun Empire.”