Authors: L. M. Roth
Cort was
aghast at this revelation from Gaelle. Surely this was more terrible even than
he had imagined! He had suspected that Melisande came to Eirinia with evil
purpose in mind, but the depths of wickedness she had expressed to her
grandmother surpassed even that which Cort thought her capable of.
He pounced on
a statement that Gaelle had made earlier.
“You say that
Emperor Urbanus called on you last spring? When was that exactly, may I ask?”
He uttered his
questions with as nonchalant an air as he could assume, but he had never been
skilled at prevaricating and did not know whether she saw through the pretense
or not.
But Gaelle
pondered his question in all seriousness, wrinkling her brow in concentration.
She frowned a moment to recollect and then turned questioningly to her husband.
“Was it in
May, Pascal? I seem to recall it was May because the jasmine was just
flowering, and that was always Urbanus’ favorite scent. He said he missed
jasmine in Valerium, where roses seemed the norm in every garden that he saw.”
Pascal nodded
his head emphatically and crossed his arms over his chest as if for emphasis.
“Yes, it was,”
he agreed. “We had strawberries with the dinner that night, and those are one
of the Emperor’s favorite fruits. Yes, it was May.”
May, Cort
thought. And it was four months later that Melisande turned up in Eirinia and
met Brenus. The voyage would only have taken about three weeks if the weather
was fine: when had she left Gaudereaux, he wondered.
He decided to
find out; something gnawed at him that would not find rest until he learned all
of the truth about his sister-in-law.
“Do you recall
exactly when it was that Melisande left with no word of her destination?” he
asked her grandparents.
If she was
curious about her young visitor’s inquisitiveness Gaelle did not betray it.
“Oh, yes, it
was in early August,” she said. “We had just had a memorial for her father two
days before she left; that is why I can remember the date so well.”
“A memorial
service?” Cort asked curiously. “What is that? Do you not have ordinary burial
customs in Gaudereaux?”
Gaelle laughed
at his bewilderment. A twinkle of good humor enlivened her eyes as she smiled
fondly at the young man.
“In Gaudereaux
we have the usual burial customs, with a quick interment and a time of mourning
for the family. But about six months after the death of the departed we gather
together for a time to celebrate the life that was just lost. It is a way for
us to heal from our grief. As we look back and remember and share incidents
that were amusing, inspiring, or moving, we can lay our grief to its final rest
and simply rejoice in having known the loved one that we lost.”
“Ah!” Cort
exclaimed. “And you say Melisande left for Eirinia right after the memorial
service!”
“Yes,” Gaelle
said faintly as she nodded her head slowly. “She did. She waited to pay her
last respects to her father before she left.”
Gaelle was
still for the next few moments as if recalling the incidents of those months.
Cort waited for her to go on, but did not break into her musing of past events.
The room was so still that he could hear the faint buzzing of a bee outside the
open window as it hovered over a vine of honeysuckle. A gentle breeze stirred
and sent the bouquet wafting through the sitting room. Beside him Siv took an
appreciative sniff and sighed; and then all was quiet once more.
At last Gaelle
spoke, her eyes suddenly wide and full of hidden fears, fears that Cort could
see she was afraid to voice aloud.
“And then she
left for Eirinia right after that. She must have planned it; there was some
purpose she had in mind. But what that purpose was, I do not know.”
Cort could
fairly guess what Melisande’s purpose was, but he decided it would be wise to
keep his opinion to himself. Where that wisdom came from he did not know; a
year ago he would have blurted it out immediately regardless of what
consequences followed.
It must be the
influence of Siv, he thought. She considered every word and its possible
consequences before she spoke it, as a prudent woman should. And once more he
realized what a blessing she was to him…
He felt that
they had intruded on Pascal and Gaelle long enough and rose to his feet to take
leave of them. He and Siv left the couple with promises to return for another
visit before they left Gaudereaux.
As they walked
back to the inn Cort mused aloud regarding the news they had just received.
Something Gaelle had said had disturbed him, but he could not recall what it
was, or why it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
“Help me,
Siv,” he said to his wife. “I am deeply concerned at what Gaelle told us about
Melisande. But there is something more as well, something that I can not
remember from her account. For instance; it takes no more than three weeks to
cross from Eirinia to Gaudereaux if the weather is fair, yet Melisande should
have arrived in Eirinia at least a month before she met Brenus, whom she told
she had only just arrived. Where was she during that month? And what was her
purpose in coming to Eirinia?”
Siv, who had
borne patiently with this recital, had already recalled the detail that eluded
her husband; and divined his sister-in-law’s purpose in visiting Eirinia.
“It is this,
Cort: Gaelle said that Melisande hated Dag and would have her revenge on him.
And she vowed that he would lose his children just as he had taken her mother
from her; and that she would turn their hearts away from the God he loved more
than her mother, for Whom he abandoned her.”
Cort stared at
her, his face slowly draining of all color as he listened to her. Because now
as he listened to his wife he remembered the body of his brother, he who had so
foolishly married Melisande, lying near the mound. And he saw the face of his
younger sister; Nolwenn, who was utterly fascinated by Melisande, and took her
side in every dispute.
And as the
full revelation of his sister-in-law’s wicked plan unfolded to him, a horror
unimaginable suddenly assaulted him, taking his breath away and stifling the
air in his lungs. As black dots danced in front of his eyes and his wife’s face
became a blur, he realized in that same instant that he had fallen for
Melisande’s ruse, and done exactly what she had intended him to do.
He sat on the
rough wooden bench waiting for something to happen. He had been imprisoned for
three months now, and waiting was becoming more difficult. He thought of his
wife and children back in Eirinia: did they know of his imprisonment? Had the
message he entrusted to Justus Lucius reached Marcus, and had he traveled to
Valerium to come to Dag’s aid? Had Marcus sent word to his family, or did they
wonder what had become of him, and why he did not come home?
He wondered
also how his daughter-in-law fared, and whether she and Maelys quarreled. Melisande’s
child was due to be born at any time now, and he pondered if a new baby might
soften his daughter’s antagonism toward Melisande, and whether it might bring
healing to the family as a whole. A small reminder of Brenus was what Judoc had
said. But would it bring happiness or heartache, serving only to remind
everyone that Brenus was truly gone, and all that remained of him was the child
and the widow that no one had welcomed into the family from the first?
Dag had plenty
of time to think on the past. The Emperor Iacomus had largely ignored him since
sending him back to the dungeon. He was permitted no visitors, and therefore
had no one to talk to. Odelius had not been able to serve him in several weeks,
and could only come when one of his regular guards was indisposed.
He was given
enough to eat, although the food was without imagination, consisting of bread,
vegetables simply prepared, and plain meat that was merely boiled, baked, or
fried. This did not matter to Dag: he had always had simple tastes and ate
whatever was put before him without question. Even on his travels of long ago
or his rare visits to Marcus Maximus in Valerium, he had always chosen the
plainest dishes of whatever fare that was offered to him.
If anything
was cause for discomfort or fretting it was the confinement of his dungeon. He
was jailed in a space that was only about fifteen feet long by about twenty
feet wide, permitting him little room for walking. He had always been taller
than other men, with a long stride that seemed to swallow whatever room he
found himself in, and had always engaged in hard physical labor as well. Now he
felt cramped by the lack of space, and felt an overwhelming desire to stretch
his arms and legs, to run and to jump.
As this was
impossible he forced himself to be contented with merely walking around the
room several times a day for at least twenty minutes at a time, and lifting the
wooden bench over his head for fifty repetitions. This activity kept his
muscles hard and his body fit. Although he was nearly fifty he appeared younger
due to his excellent physical condition.
He frequently
thought of his wife. Judoc’s sweetly feminine face rose to his mind often, and
he shed silent tears at his yearning for her. What a loyal and loving woman she
was, as well as an energetic and high-spirited one who always made even the
simplest of pleasures a joy to be savored. She had made his life complete, when
he had thought he was doomed to be alone, having been disappointed in love
twice before from those whose hearts were false. And then Dominio had brought
her into his life and his own heart was so full of happiness that it seemed
like a dream from which he would surely wake up. But he never did, and he
blessed the woman who had given him her heart and entrusted it to him.
Dag spent many
hours in prayer, having little else to do. He prayed for his wife and children,
for his friend Marcus who had been exiled from Valerium, and for all of the
believers who had been exiled with him. He entreated Dominio to protect those
who called on His Name, and asked to be released from his prison so he could
return to those he loved. Although these prayers were still unanswered, he felt
a calming peace fill his heart, and he knew that he had to trust Dominio for
whatever the outcome of his imprisonment would be.
He had fallen
asleep and into uneasy dreams, but was now awakened by the turning of a key in
the door of his cell, and the creaking of the door as it was opened. He rubbed
the sleep out of his eyes and forced himself to focus on the guard who stood
before him with his legs akimbo and hands on his hips. A mocking sneer curled
his lips as he studied Dag; the arrogance that exuded from him might have
infuriated another man, but Dag had learned patience through many trials in his
life, and he said nothing.
“Well,” the
guard scoffed, “you are about to visit the Emperor. It isn’t every prisoner
that has such a privilege; most of them are left here to rot! You must be more
important than you appear to be.”
He snickered
and waited for Dag to respond. But Dag only smiled at him, a gesture which
seemed to take the guard by surprise. For a moment he wavered and stared at Dag
uncertainly; then he recovered himself and turned his back abruptly on the
prisoner.
“Follow me!”
he ordered sharply, and roughly jerking the chain that was manacled to Dag’s
wrist, he led him up a series of stone staircases to the Emperor’s throne room
far above.
Dag stood
erectly before Iacomus, but did not look at him. He kept his gaze fastened on
the opposite wall, and waited for the Emperor to speak. He did not know whether
to expect death or torture, and steeled himself for whatever sentence would be
handed down to him.
Iacomus
considered the man before him. He had not forgotten the way the prisoner had
defied him at their last meeting, and took a perverse pleasure in keeping him
in suspense. He would show him what happened to those who dared to raise their
voice against him!
But a curious
thing happened to Iacomus, something he did not expect: the longer he kept Dag
waiting in silence, the more in control of the interview the prisoner appeared
to be. He marveled at how calm the man was, how fearless. Why, he did not seem
to be concerned about his fate at all!
A true
Alexandrian, he thought to himself. Entrusting his fate to a God that he could
not see and Who evidently did not care that he was a prisoner with his life at
the mercy of the whim of a ruler.
Iacomus
remembered the meetings where he had infiltrated their ranks in order to learn
their secrets that he might win the favor of the Emperor Urbanus. He had needed
a way to bring himself to the attention of the Emperor, and the Alexandrians
had given him the opportunity he needed. Pledging allegiance to another Kingdom
other than the Empire, indeed! What a passel of fools they all were, believing
in something they could not see, hear, or touch, while throwing away all
earthly advantages as worldly and ambitious.
Well, he had
their Sword now, their precious Logos. He had seen with his own eyes at those
meetings the words that miraculously appeared on its blade whenever a question
was asked of it. He could not deny the marvel, although he was at a loss to
explain its occurrence. Truly it was a power unlike any he had ever seen. It
dawned on him that whoever possessed the Sword could call on that power and not
only use it for their aid, but could use it to wield control over all others…
And to ensure
that the Alexandrians were deprived of its aid he had persuaded that idiot
Decimus that his cousin Paulina was stupid enough to marry to steal it at the
first opportunity after Urbanus had exiled Marcus Maximus, an occurrence which
had taken the Sword out of Iacomus’ reach. The theft was easier than Iacomus
had anticipated due to the unexpected friendship that sprang up between the son
of Decimus and the son of Maximus. The relationship had given Decimus access to
the family and their villa. Then all he had to do was to wait for the chance to
take Logos and bring it to the new Emperor.
Iacomus
chuckled inwardly at how brilliantly he had manipulated his way to power and
deprived this rebellious sect of the source of theirs. He thought again of the
gleam of the Sword, of the shimmer of its blade. How much power did they have
without that?
He was torn
from his musing by the reminder of the prisoner who stood before him,
continuing to stare at the opposite wall. Something about the man intimidated
him suddenly, and he remembered the words the man had flung at him at their
first meeting, telling him to repent of his blasphemy. Iacomus was not a man
given to introspection, nor did he believe in a power higher than his own. He
had secretly scoffed at the Alexandrians when he attended their weekly
meetings, only joining them with the intention of learning all he could about
them in order to betray them for his own purposes.
But as he
studied the man who stood before him an unreasonable fear came over him, and he
found himself wondering what kind of man it was who could defy his sovereign
and not be afraid. And for the first time a glimmer of doubt entered the mind
of Iacomus Cornelius…
To the
prisoner he merely gave a flick of his hand and he gestured to the guard.
“Take him back
to his dungeon,” he ordered. “I have had enough of his glum countenance for
today.”