Authors: L. M. Roth
It was the
evening of the third day since their return. The days had been refreshing as
they all felt a sense of respite since the enforced exit from Trekur Lende and
the voyage to Gaudereaux. And it was infinitely more pleasant to enjoy the
hospitality of a private home, than to be accommodated in a public inn.
For Pascal and
Gaelle had opened their home to them, and picked up the threads of acquaintance
with their daughter’s intended and companions with a gracious welcome, and
quickly warmed to Kyrene, as they noted the latter’s quiet refinement and
appreciated her peaceful serenity. A good friend for their lively, chattering
daughter, they said among themselves.
Kyrene in turn
grew genuinely fond of the cultured couple and their intelligent conversation,
and privately wondered how they had begotten a daughter as prone to idle
amusement as Fanchon. Upon closer acquaintance with them, she noted how quickly
they gave in to their daughter’s every whim, their only desire to bring a smile
to her lips and a spring of joy to her step. It was clear that they indulged
her beyond the bounds of reason, she thought.
Still, Kyrene
found Fanchon’s occasional silliness amusing and wisely kept her opinion to
herself. And Gaudereaux itself was a land that prided itself on living for
pleasure; Fanchon was merely typical of the populace, as Kyrene would come to
know.
Fanchon had
settled with remarkable ease back into her native habitat. She prattled of her
adventures to her parents; related the trek through the blazing Desert of
Dubar, and how she had surprised one of the bandits who attacked them in the
dead of night, recounted the eventful stay at the luxurious palace of the
Ashkani and her narrow escape as an addition to his harem, and rhapsodized over
the elegant cloths and wares of the fabled city of Lycenium. She mentioned
their meeting with Kyrene at the Temple of Lopponios in the legendary Isles of
Solone. Yet not once did she speak of Trekur Lende, the rugged homeland of her
betrothed, nor of Xenon and her conversion as an Alexandrian.
Marcus found
the omissions puzzling as they had been surely the most important part of their
journey. Still, perhaps Fanchon merely preferred to discuss these matters in
private, due to the solemnity of their nature. If such was the case it
would be the first sign of discretion Marcus had ever seen in the flighty girl.
But tonight
they were to be the guests of honor at a banquet. Pascal had declared that
their safe return called for a festive celebration, and he had invited all of
the family’s friends to a fete.
Marcus was
pleased to see that Governor Urbanus and his lady Renata were among the guests.
The Governor exchanged salutes with the young Valerians and was seated across
table from Marcus and Felix, a prospect that gave them both pleasure. How good
it was to see their own countrymen again! They had made good friends on their
journey, but Marcus had to admit that he was more than a little homesick for
his own land and his own people.
“Welcome, my
friends!” Urbanus enthused. “So good to see your fresh young faces again! You
had success with your mission, I trust? You both seem lighter of countenance
since last I saw you, for you both appeared rather burdened by the gravity of
your task.”
At this
observation neither Marcus nor Felix could think of a suitable rejoinder.
Possibly Felix seemed lighter now that the guilt of his betrayal had been
confessed and forgiven. But Marcus still carried the burden of the knowledge
that the object of his quest did not exist, and therefore he could not appease
the Empress Aurora for the release of his parents. Yet Marcus felt in spite of
such sobering circumstances that Dominio reigned in every instance of his life,
and that this too would be resolved according to His will.
For now, he
must answer Urbanus’ inquiry.
“Yes, I
suppose you might say that our mission was successful,” Marcus mused as he
cocked an eyebrow at Felix, who smiled and glanced down at his plate. “You
might say that much was resolved, for our companions as well as our original
task.”
The eyes of
Urbanus suddenly gleamed with an alert curiosity.
“Yes, well
that is good!” he exulted. “And I see you have acquired a new companion,” he
gestured with a nod of his head in Kyrene’s direction. “Lovely! She is perhaps
a special friend of yours?”
Urbanus smiled
at Felix, with a knowing look in his eyes.
Felix caught
the inference and choked on the water he had just sipped. He put his napkin to
his lips and quickly recovered, although a crimson stain flushed his lean,
narrow face.
“No! I mean,
yes, well, what I mean to say is, is…she is as dear to me as a sister. So
perhaps she
is
a special friend, in that sense,” Felix fumbled to
explain, clearly flustered by the insinuation of Urbanus’ question.
“Urbanus, you know
you should not ask such questions,” Renata gently remonstrated with her
husband.
“My
apologies,” Urbanus chuckled. “I meant no harm. I simply enjoy the sight of
young love in bloom, eh? But no matter, we can exchange news. I see that our
little Fanchon is still enamored of her wild man. What an odd match they are,
yes? And you, young Marcus, is there a special lady in your life?”
Marcus
flinched. He heartily wished that Urbanus would change the subject of his
discourse. Did he have no other conversation?
“No,” he
answered shortly. “I am free of any fancy.”
“Well, we must
see if we can change that during your stay,” Urbanus replied. “There is nothing
we rejoice in more in Gaudereaux than love. It is our reason for living, you
might say, as well as enjoying life itself. And though I hail from Valerium, I
quickly adapted to the customs of this country. After all, is anything really
more important than love?”
Marcus and
Felix both pondered the question. Marcus disdained to answer it, considering
that Urbanus had invaded his privacy enough for one evening. But Felix
surprised him by responding to the inquiry.
“I see what
you mean,” he replied. “I think I must agree with that philosophy, yet not in
the way that you understand in Gaudereaux. For there are more facets to love
than just a romantic attachment between a man and a woman. That is undoubtedly
the one we all strive to attain, but are not our reasons for doing so perhaps
reflective of a love of self?
“For every man
desires to be brave for his lady, but is that perhaps out of a need for
assurance that he, in fact, possesses such a quality? And young ladies go to
great lengths to achieve beauty for their beloved, but is that really an aspect
of vanity, to see her image reflected in the mirror of his admiring gaze?”
Felix paused
for breath, and a startled Urbanus pondered the question posed to him by the
young Valerian. Marcus was stunned by the argument his friend presented.
Did
they seek love for selfish reasons, and not out of purer motives?
Urbanus fixed
his eyes on Felix and ventured his answer.
“My pardon
again, young friend, but such an argument seems rather cynical. Surely we love
beautiful ladies, and young maidens admire brave heroes?”
“Yes, yes,”
Felix shook his head in frustration, as he wrinkled his long, pointed nose and
tightened his narrow lips. “But do we ever really see the object of our love
for what they truly are? And if we do, is our love strong enough to endure?
“There are
many kinds of love, sir: the sacrificial love of a parent for a child, the
trusting love of a child for a parent, the love between siblings who share a
sense of kinship, and that of friends who love because of an empathy with one
another. Of all of them I venture to say that the parental love is truly the
deepest and most lasting, for it believes and hopes for the best in all
circumstances, whereas all of the other loves are subject to change if one of
the partners does. In that sense, one might say that parental love carries a
spark of the divine.”
Urbanus
appeared to be dazzled by the reasoning of Felix. He shrugged his shoulders and
laughed heartily.
“Truly, your
intellect is dizzying!” he exclaimed. “You will get no argument from me!”
Marcus could
only marvel at Felix and his insight into the question of love. True, Felix had
always been intelligent, but he had gained a new wisdom since he had committed
his life to Dominio. That it was born out of his relationship with Dominio
Marcus was well aware. Felix spent many hours poring over the written account
of Alexandros’ teachings that Xenon had presented to them, and gave the first
hour of his day to prayer and contemplation. The result was admirable, Marcus
reflected.
Urbanus
chuckled and waved his hands in the air.
“Enough of
such heavy contemplation!” he laughed. “Tell me what news you have brought with
you; for I am ever eager to hear what goes on in the world.”
So Felix
entertained the Governor with a colorful account of Koohyaram and the
magnificence of the Imperial Palace. He spoke of the beauty of the Isles of
Solone, and the sadness at seeing a once great civilization brought low by its
own folly. Felix then mentioned their all too brief stay in Lycenium and the
stimulating excitement of that vital city where East and West meet.
“Ah,
Lycenium!”
The eyes of
Urbanus lit up with an incandescent glow.
“Indeed, one
of my favorite cities in all of the Empire. Yes, Lycenium,” he repeated with
some apparent distraction.
He paused a
moment, staring into space, and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together on one
hand.
“Oh yes, I
recall now!” he beamed as he snapped his fingers. “I too have news of Lycenium
that you may find of interest. Do you know the son of the Governor of Lycenium,
young Decimus Hadrianus? Well, the talk in Lycenium is that he is all but
betrothed to the daughter of old Tullios Octavius!”
Urbanus shone
a triumphant smile on the young men, pleased at the successful recall of his
news.
“Not,” Marcus
could barely say the word, “not Tullia?”
“Yes, that is
the name! Thank you; it had escaped my memory. And you may expect an
announcement soon, for if I know her mother as I think I do, Drusilla Octavius
will move heaven and earth to secure that match! She has ever been known to
climb above her station, and…”
Here his wife
reprimanded him.
“Gossip, my
dear Urbanus,” Renata softly murmured. “It is yet but a rumor, mere
speculation. The young lady has been a frequent guest in the family villa, but
no betrothal has been made.”
“No betrothal
yet
,
my dear,” an undeterred Urbanus added. “But old Gerontius is as keen on his son
making the match as Drusilla is her daughter. The families are old friends, and
Gerontius and Tullios served in the army together. Count on it; the match will
be made.”
Marcus pushed
his plate away from him. Truly, he had no appetite for food. How quickly Tullia
had forgotten him, then! And just how long had she been courted by Decimus? Was
it of him she thought of in sweet reverie as she twirled the rose Marcus had
given her?
He glanced
across the table and caught the look of commiseration from Felix. He alone at
this table understood the pain Marcus felt at this moment. Was it possible that
Tullia had once toyed with Felix before she met Marcus? And had she loved
Marcus only to drop him in favor of Decimus and his more auspicious prospects
for the future? Did she merely chase one lover only to desert him to pursue
another?
And yet, the
vision he had of her in the cave sprang unbidden to his mind. Quicksand, she
had been struggling in quicksand, crying for someone to rescue her. Marcus
suddenly knew that Tullia was indeed struggling in quicksand: she was caught
fast and in danger of being engulfed by the things of the world and her love
for it. Had she not implied such when she rejected his proposal?
She did not
deny that she loved him, he realized. She said he had no home to offer her and
his prospects of doing so were unlikely. Either she did love him but could not
live a life of faith, or the heart was not an issue that greatly concerned her.
Marcus puzzled over this and paid no heed to the conversation at the table. He
sat with his musings, oblivious to all around him.
It was a
commotion at the other end of the table that finally captured his attention.
Fanchon had evidently indulged too freely of the wine that flowed at the table.
Marcus had drunk none, and Felix drank only enough to wash down his food.
Kyrene and Dag, he observed, had also abstained or drank sparingly. But Fanchon
had drunk immoderately and now the giddy girl had risen from her seat and
weaved unsteadily on her feet.
Dag quietly
urged her to be seated, but she impatiently shook off his restraining hand.
“Let me be!”
she pouted in a voice shrill with drunkenness. “I want to dance! Come, let the
pipes play! Let the lyres be plucked! Let us dance!”
And she whirled
around and laughed, and with a toss of her golden head she led those who would
in a dance of merriment. The pipes played, the lyres strummed, and the guests
made merry as they followed the giggling, spinning girl.